


Our Names in Blood

by OhCaptainMyCaptain



Series: Stucky Porn Prompt Challenge [14]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal, Anal Sex, And they're fucking BEAUTIFUL, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Porn, Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky gets off on the pain, But constantly hungry or wanting to fuck, Captain America: The First Avenger, Character Turned Into Vampire, Consensual Violence, Eventually Vampire!Bucky, Explicit Sexual Content, Forced Suicide, It's Hitler and his wife, It's either turn him or let him die, It's the super soldier experiment that accidentally turns Steve into the monster, M/M, Mild Painplay, Oh no Bucky's practically dead, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Rimming, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, So you can only feel so bad, Steve and Bucky having nothing but each other, Steve goes to rescue Bucky in Hydra, Top Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers, Twist on historical facts, Vampire Sex, Vampire!Steve, Violence, Warning for plenty of violence and gore, Warning: NSFW GIFS/images at the end of the story, Whole thing takes place during the war, and mature content, but like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 10:17:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2344787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhCaptainMyCaptain/pseuds/OhCaptainMyCaptain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The super soldier experiment results in Steve becoming a lethal killing machine. Isolated, alone, and terrified, Steve finds his way to Europe where he learns Bucky's been taken by Hydra. When he finds him strapped to a metal slab and moments from death, Steve faces the choice: either let his childhood best friend - and the love of his life - die, or turn him and condemn his soul.</p><p>

<b>Warning: Not recommended for the faint of heart. Deals with heavy violence, sexual content, mature subject matter, and no shortage of kinks and angst.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Names in Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Vampire AUs are sort of an acquired taste - hell, even I don't tend to generally read them, and horror is my favourite genre (vampires are totally my jam lmao). So I was hesitant for a while to accept this prompt, and I'm not even sure how many of you will read this, hahaha. I feel like it's much darker than a lot of other vampire AUs I've come across, and I incorporated it into the CA:TFA canon-verse, so there's that, I suppose xD Anyways, _I_ love it, so that's a good start!
> 
> My[Tumblr](http://ohcaptainmycaptain1918.tumblr.com/) is basically a place for Stucky, Marvel, Chris Evans, Sebastian Stan, NSFW content, and inappropriate humor. If you wanna come join me in my dumpster, please do :)
> 
> All my thanks - as always - goes to my best friend, [shanology](shanology.tumblr.com), who helped read through all this with me as I was writing it, and helped steer me when I didn't quite know where to go next. For example, the first sex scene is all thanks to her. Originally, that wasn't what I had planned, but in retrospect, I now can't imagine the story without that moment! There is a method to my madness, and it's usually Shannon keeping me sane and letting me flail at her about this shit all the time xD So thank you, baby <3
> 
> **I do not own any characters, settings, plot lines, concepts, or terminology as created, used, and owned by Marvel Entertainment, LLC ®. This is a work of fanfiction. Furthermore, I do not authorize the re-distribution of this story for the purposes of downloading, printing, or posting the story in its entirety on any other websites without first attaining my consent. Thank you.**

This is a world where Steve Rogers should’ve been transformed into Captain America, but isn’t.

This is also the world where Steve Rogers should’ve been transformed into the ultimate weapon, and _is._

Under the surface, there really is no difference between being a _weapon_ and being a _killing machine_ ; the two can be wrapped up in separate packages but they will always be one in the same. In that sense, he becomes the very thing they’d set out to turn him into.

Technically, Steve Rogers dies in that metal sarcophagus. Before it happens, all he knows is pain. It could’ve ended for him – he could’ve continued on with the life he’d always known – if he’d just let them stop when Dr. Erskine had ordered it to. But he’d fought it; demanded that he could do it.

He _could_ , but yet he _couldn’t_ , either.

For a split second in time - one that, to him, lasts forever because in that single moment, he straddles that line between life and death - his heart stops beating. His body has succeeded in getting bigger – stronger, durable, but it’d taken just a _heartbeat_ too long, and then that very same heart gives out. He only remains standing because in that chamber, there’s nowhere else for his body to go. But had they opened it up and stopped the procedure there, he wouldn’t have for very much longer; the body they’d wanted would’ve been revealed to the world, but the man who’d powered it would’ve been long gone, and he would’ve done nothing more useful than fall to the floor – an empty shell, a vessel now useless to them.

But that’s not what happens. Because he’d already stopped screaming before his heart had taken its final beat, and so they wouldn’t have _known_ to stop it there. The fact that they _did_ see it through to completion is the only reason Steve Rogers is brought back from the brink of death.

Now, they’d never be able to explain _why_ or _how_ what happened _happened_ , but time – _decades of it_ – has given Steve the chance to come up with his own hypotheses. He’ll never know for sure, of course, but here is his guess: though his heart stops beating, he’s inches away from death but hasn’t actually _died_ yet. His body, in this moment, is between two states – he is both alive and dead. Any longer, had the procedure ended, and he would’ve drifted quickly into the latter, and his story would’ve been over.

But the vitarays and the serum and the DNA in his body are _still_ changing him – it’s _still_ unrelenting - and so it brings him back while also _failing_ to at the same time. He’ll never be able to understand for _sure how_ it had made him what it did… But, straddling that line between life and death, the serum turns him into something completely _different._ And that’s the _real_ transformation that happens to Steve Rogers, and _that’s_ the real definition of pain that his body’s never felt before.

When the procedure is over and the machine opens, he’s no longer dead but he isn’t human. His heart had been beating so fast when it had all started but he doesn’t feel it anymore. It had, in fact, taken its final beat. It’ll never beat again, but of course, Steve doesn’t know this, not at first. It takes time for him to fully realize the extent to which he’s changed.

He knows he’s bigger and that he feels _taller_ , but he doesn’t understand why everyone _reacts_ the way they do. He’s under the impression that the experiment had been success… Only they don’t stop gasping and he thinks he hears someone shouting, and they’re all backing away with a look of fear across all of their faces – and he’d be paying this more mind if _everything_ wasn’t so discombobulating.

He’d expected Erskine’s serum to amplify his senses – he’d been given the whole ‘bad becomes worse; good becomes great’ speech the night before – but he isn’t prepared for what happens when he opens his eyes for the first time. The lights are too bright and there’s too much dust floating in the air. It doesn’t matter that the men in the stands are a good twenty feet away, he can _still_ see every pore on their faces. Their gasps sound like screams and their screams sound like thunder booming in his ears, and his head spins, it spins and it’s _too much, too much, please stop_ , and there’s this _smell_ …

Steve doesn’t know what it is at first, but it’s sweet like nectar and immediately has fire ripping through his throat because some basal _need_ inside of him requires it like air. It’s instantly maddening and he’s scared, he’s _terrified_ , and then beyond the deafening sounds around him there’s this chorus of loud _booms_ … _Pitter-patters_ that sound like drums and canons. They’re all quick and they’re coming from everywhere but there’s nothing in this room but him and the people still too scared to come _near_ him.

It’s only when his eyes finally land and focus on Howard Stark… When he’s able to zero in on his senses – try and focus them on _one_ person to stable himself, even just a bit… that he realizes he can _see_ the scientist’s _pulse_ fluttering away in his neck. And that _boom-BOOM, boom-BOOM, boom-BOOM_ surrounding the young man, _tied only to him_ \- it’s coming from _that spot._

He can _hear_ their heartbeats… It’s still too bright, too loud, he needs the noises to stop because he can’t think; he needs them to _help him_ but they won’t come any closer – even the good Doctor has recoiled in terror, and he doesn’t understand what’s wrong with him for them to be acting this way. And that smell… He opens his mouth to say ( _something_ )… and then forgets what exactly that was because the smell hits his taste buds and he’s seeing red.

He wants to – no, he _has_ to – rip into these people, and he doesn’t know why. But he can hear their hearts and that aroma is coming from _them_ , he’s sure of it, he doesn’t know _how_ he knows this but he _does_ – as second nature to him as breathing – and they _scream_ … Start to try and run, and it’d be so simple… All he’d have to do is make one of them the target and he could easily catch them before they get halfway across the room. It’d only take him a _second_ to split the skin open and he’ll find peace in there _somewhere_ , he doesn’t know how he knows but he _does, he knows,_ he--

Realizes he’s baring his teeth and snarling, _growling_ ; making a sound no human should make… Making a noise like a _predator_. He realizes his body – now big and strong and impenetrable and _perfect_ but _no longer alive_ \- is ready to strike… It’s _tense_ , _coiled_. The moment he realizes it is the moment terror washes over him and he’s able to pull back enough from his frenzied-induced brain to know only that he needs to get out of there… _What’s happening to me_ and _Kill them kill them KILL THEM KILL THEM_ and these people will _die_ if he stays in that room with them for a second longer.

So he runs. He runs straight past everybody, covering his ears and refusing to breathe, but the sounds they make are never any less loud; the stench, only _worse_ when he’s that close to them. He has to get out of there and he _does_ …

The last face he catches a glimpse of before escaping their lives forever is Peggy Carter’s… But he won’t be able to pinpoint it until _later_ \- think to himself, _I’m sorry, I’ll miss you_ -because in this moment all he sees her as is a meal.

* * *

He’s the first of his kind – although there have already been stories written about what he’s become. It seems impossible but yet, here he is. He can’t put a name on it - even though the stories he grew up having heard of and read have long since done that already - because it feels too ridiculous; still seems like some horrible dream. There are fictional myths and legends which he naively follows at first because _how is he supposed to know otherwise?_ But whatever the serum had done to him – _however_ it had somehow turned him into this – it really _had_ brought him to the ultimate, proverbial, and literal peak. 

His reflexes are sharper and his agility is near a hundred times quicker than it had been before, if he puts in the effort. He _hears_ and _sees_ and _feels_ in a way no human being ever could. Steve Rogers has never been deluded, so it doesn’t take all that long for him to admit to himself that he’s indeed _not_ human anymore. He expects to burn in sunlight but he doesn’t. It’s hard to tell whether that has to do with the myth being bullshit or just the serum making him impervious to it. He also doesn’t need to sleep; doesn’t need to worry about sickness.

But he _does_ need to eat.

For this reason, he immediately turns to a life of solitude. He doesn’t _want_ to kill anyone, but his instincts are constantly trying to drive him towards it. If he gets too close – if that scent gets on his tongue and constricts his throat, making his lungs burn – he feels like he’s only seconds from losing control. So, even though he _can_ travel by day, traveling at _night_ quickly proves itself the easier option. The less people that have to cross his path, the better.

He doesn’t know if he can actually die (and do not doubt that there are plenty of times within the first few weeks where Steve Rogers _considers_ how he could successfully end it all so the world can be rid of _one more plague_ ), but he quickly discovers that without sustenance, he _can_ and _does_ grow considerably weaker. Steve tries to eat other things to satiate the ache in his gut, but food tastes foul in his mouth; make his stomach churn. Anything that even _makes_ it that far only gets vomited back up. The only thing that _doesn’t,_ he learns,is blood.

Rats and other animals bring him a burden in his heart, too – _his heart, his heart that no longer beats; just a dead thing weighing down his chest_ – but they’re better than people. God can forgive him for that… of this, he at least holds hope. The smell isn’t as sweet as the aroma he gets around living, breathing humans, and it tastes only a _little_ satisfying when it slides down his parched throat, but it makes the pain – the burning – go away. He always buries them with a whispered prayer when he’s finished.

He hates himself.

If he could look into the eyes of his reflection, he imagines that he’d see the remnants of a man who’d only ever wanted to do _good_ but is now marked for Hell.

But he can’t see himself at all… he knows. He’s tried. No surface, no window, no mirror, _nothing_ … He can’t see himself in _anything_. He wonders what he even looks like now. He’s seen his hands, though; his arms… stomach… legs… Skin now as white as the fat, thick snowflakes he’d used to love to watch float to the ground during the month of January. ( _Januarys in Brooklyn always had the best snowfalls_.) The feeling of his long, sharpened canines always makes him feel sick; the emptiness of a dead pulse that he sometimes _thinks_ he can feel in his veins… But this of course is nothing but a lie; a hollow wish for the past…

That feels the worst. He doesn’t need to sleep anymore, which gives him too much time to think – and most of that time, he’ll spend with his fingers pushed against what had used to be his pulse point, and he’ll close his eyes and he’ll pray, he’ll _pray_ for God to save his soul, to either let him die or somehow bring him _life_ again. He’ll pray and he’ll pray and he’ll pray… and his fingers always feel nothing. His heart always remains dead. Steve Rogers starts to wonder if there’s anyone even up there listening.

He’s lonely, but he deserves this, he thinks. He doesn’t know _why_ , but he’s sure there must be a reason. He goes back to his old apartment and starts spending all of his time there, holed away by himself while he considers his options. When they come looking for him – _and something in him tells him that it’s to kill him, it has to be; their experiment was a failure and they need to eliminate the_ creature _they were now responsible for_ – he packs a bag as quick as he can and flees out the bedroom window… Drops over thirty feet, lands straight on concrete without shoes – and doesn’t even feel a _thing_.

He runs, and he’s still scared, still terrified. With nowhere to go and no one to turn to, he runs in the dead of night past empty shops and window panes, and his reflection never once follows. Reflections only belong to _human beings_ , and Steve Rogers is… He’s not one of those…

He’s an animal. He’s a _monster_.

* * *

He starts traveling. Wherever he can find shelter, he makes do; never stays for more than one night so as not to attract attention and, worse yet, _people._ He has to survive on his own, he _doesn’t deserve otherwise,_ but… he misses talking to someone… He’s never been this alone before. 

He misses _Bucky._

Bucky… Bucky’s the only reason Steve hasn’t _tried_ taking his own life, even if he’s flirted with the idea more times than he can now count. It’s not that Steve entertains the fantasy that he’ll ever get to _see_ him again, because… because Steve can’t be trusted around people anymore; he’s an abomination – he’s _disgusting_ , he’s _monstrous_ , he’s a damn _disease_ – and he could _kill_ him. Steve can’t trust that he wouldn’t do it if he got close enough.

But he needs to know that Bucky’s okay. If that means he spends the rest of… _however long he’s damned to walk the earth for_ … watching Bucky from a distance and being his protector from the shadows, so to say, then perhaps that’s good enough. He can do one last good thing right by God, by the world. At least then, if his soul is sent to Hell for an eternity more of torture and pain, he’ll go peacefully, knowing that he did everything he could.

Bucky Barnes, as has always been the case, gives Steve a reason to keep living, even if he really isn’t living anymore. With that as his new focus, he begins planning. Only a few days later, hiding away in the cargo area of a ship destined for England and surrounded by weapons and barrels of preserves and _enough rats to fill his belly and at least stifle the maddening urge to surface up top and devour his way through the heartbeats walking around above him_ … he parts with America, his _home_ \- with every intention of combing the hairs of Europe until he finds his best friend.

* * *

It’s love that makes him do it. 

He’s _always_ been in love with Bucky Barnes. And though it’d taken the guy almost twenty-five years to say it back, Bucky loves him, too. Or at least, he _had_. Steve doesn’t know _what_ Bucky would make of him now. He wonders what he’ll be told, if anything; what Bucky’s supposed to think when he finally gets to go home, only to find their apartment empty and no way of knowing what had happened to Steve. Steve finds he can’t think about it too much or he’s overcome with anxiety. If he could sleep, maybe he could then dream, and _if_ he dreamed, Steve suspects it would be nothing expect getting to say his goodbyes to Bucky so he best friend could carry on with his life in peace.

And thus, love is the reason why when, almost four months later - while he’s sneaking his way through a village near Azzano in the dead of night to try and find something small to feed on - when Steve overhears some Italians talking about the recent capture of the United States _107 th _Infantry, he knows exactly what he has to do.

He listens to their chatter and mentally memorizes the general location of where the prisoners are being held, based off the scraps of coordinates the men throw about in their conversation. Steve’s learned enough since his time over there to know _exactly_ who Hydra is; more about who _Schmidt_ is. He knows what they’re doing to all of these innocent people – just as bad as Hitler and _his_ army, maybe worse.

Steve may be a monster, but he still wishes he could help. He remains hidden in the shadows as he drinks in the sight of these two soldiers – _enemies to his country, and that means, to_ him as well _–_ and he considers to himself how quickly he could just spring up on them and snap their necks.

But he ultimately forces himself to look away; shake his head. He can’t let himself get that close. So instead, he sets off into the night with nothing to protect him but his own body as his new greatest weapon. The information he’d gathered turns out to be all he needs, and within just a couple short hours, he happens upon the Hydra factory. He scopes out the perimeter and tries to come up with a suitable plan. Unfortunately, he realizes that _none_ of them involve a plausible way of getting to Bucky without being forced to _interact_ with him.

He’ll do what needs to be done. Having to see him will only make the separation _harder_ , but at least his best friend will be safe and _alive_. At this point, that’s the only outcome that matters.

It doesn’t quench the maddening noise in his head completely, but holding his breath when he’s close to humans tends to at least _help._ If he still had a heartbeat, it would probably be racing right about now, for this is the first ‘battle’ he’s ever headed into – and he’s still not completely certain how well his new body will hold up, especially without any form of protection. So, pressing his lips into a tight line, Steve makes use of his newfound skill-set to run into enemy territory and fight his way into the building.

He doesn’t aim to murder; only to defend himself. He gets shot at, and the bullets _hurt_ when they burrow into his flesh from all different angles, _just as much as he guesses it would have otherwise_ , but it doesn’t slow him down nor does it kill him. He uses his strength to tackle his way deeper into the factory. If anyone gets too close, he punches with a heavy fist that sends them flying – _if only for their own safety_ , he tells himself.

Because he’s surrounded by the smell of blood now, and it’s making it a little hard to think. If he loses sight of things – if he lets a single Hydra soldier get too close, close enough that he can just snatch them by the throat and _feel his teeth slide into their skin_ – he can kiss Bucky goodbye.

He’d probably feast on everybody _in_ the place by that point, and it makes him terrified that Bucky might be of no exception. Steve’s never been in that position before, so he has no idea how things would turn out. He really doesn’t want to take that chance.

By the time he finds the cells holding the prisoners, Steve’s having a hard time seeing straight. He’s surrounded by too many people, and he _knows_ they immediately see him for the monster he really is – _he isn’t sure why, what his tell is, but the way they cower and try to all herd back in the cells, away from him… It’s obvious_. His head is spinning and it feels like there are flames licking all around his chest again; twisting and spiralling up his throat, because _they smell so good, he can taste them, even from there, and he needs to find out… He needs to know…_

His tongue feels heavy when he slurs out, “M’looking for Sergeant James Barnes…”

A man with a bowler cap ( _and blood that smells as sweet as citrus_ ) replies skeptically, “You with the bastards who put us here?”

Steve needs this man not to talk. Unless it’s to tell him where Bucky is, he needs them all to just _not say a word_. He tries to demonstrate his loyalty - that they’re all on the same team - by wrapping his cold hand around one of the bars of the cell and yanking. Despite using little effort, the door breaks from its hinges and he tosses it away as though the thing was made of twigs. There are sounds of fear and distress, and when he sees the men fight to seek safety _further_ into the tiny cell, he realizes that they’ve misinterpreted his actions and think he’s about to attack them. So he shakes his head and steps to the side, giving them a clear way out.

He squeezes his eyes shut. Now the barrier between him and them is gone and _it’d just be so easy to…_ He’s slipping and he needs answers before it’s too late. “Please,” he pushes out, quick and strained. “Sergeant James Barnes; I need to know where he is.”

He isn’t sure who speaks this time, but he can pinpoint their exact location by the sound of their voice and _now their pulse is the only one that matters, they’re so close, they’re--_

“We ain’t gonna tell you _shit_ ‘till we know what you plan on doing to him,” the voice argues.

“Please, I’m just trying to help,” Steve mumbles, but his words are coming out jumbled, as though he was drunk. His fists are starting to clench by his sides.

“Just what the fuck are--”

Something in Steve snaps, because _he’s trying not to kill them and God, God help him, he_ wants _to kill them, he wants to eat every last one of them and he can’t, oh God, he can’t, but he’s going to, and he needs to find Bucky and get him to safety and then get the fuck out of there and never look back, because the longer he waits, the more likely Bucky is to being his first real victim and then he’d never forgive himself, he just needs them to_ cooperate – _he needs them to fucking_ listen.

Since they won’t come _out_ , he shocks all of them by letting out an animalistic shriek and suddenly advancing into the cell before any of them have the time to react. The closest one in his reach is the man with the bowler cap, and so he’s the one Steve lunges for; wraps his hand around his jugular - _tries to be mindful not to squeeze too hard_ \- as he brings his face inches away and bares his teeth with a crazed look in his eyes. 

“SERGEANT JAMES BARNES! WHERE IS HE!?” he roars. His voice doesn’t even sound like his own. The prisoner, he has such naked fear in his eyes; Steve can suddenly smell urine and realizes the man is wetting his pants. It’s enough to bring him back just the slightest bit, though it does little to mask the tantalizing aroma emitting from the man’s entire body, coming from _just_ below the flesh.

He’s clenching his hand too hard. The soldier’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open, and all he can do is choke on desperate gasps of air. Steve can’t think properly; doesn’t realize he needs to ease up in order to get an answer – to not kill this man where he stands. Someone behind him, with a thick English accent, shouts in a quivering voice, “Th-There’s an isolation ward in the f-factory, but no one’s ever come back from it!”

Steve’s eyes jump from the new speaker back to the man in his grasp as the words filter through the haze in his brain. Realizing what he’s doing, his eyes widen as the crazed feeling ebbs; enough for him to yank his hand back and watch the way the blond topples to the side, into the small crowd of prisoners, and clutches at his throat as he struggles now for air.

“I’m sorry,” Steve apologizes quickly before promptly pressing his lips together again. They keep their distance and continue to stare at him like the monster he is, so he does them the only kindness he thinks he _can_ do right now: he turns and runs to every cell, grabbing the flimsy steel bars and yanking holes into them within _seconds_. Freeing them all, he spins on his heel before they can say anything – _if they’d even speak at all_ – and flees to the nearest exist, both to continue his quest of finding Bucky, and to give them the chance to escape… to know that he hadn’t been there to kill them.

He’s a _monster,_ but at least they may come to realize that he wasn’t the kind that nightmares were made out of.

(He _hopes._ )

* * *

Bucky’s barely alive when Steve finds him, and it’s… it _is…_ it’s _love_ that makes him do it. 

He doesn’t know what those bastards _did_ to his best friend and for how _long_ , but Steve runs into a room in the isolation ward - only after seeing a short, frightened man run _out_ \- and he… he sees Bucky. Lying back-down on a hard, stainless steel slab; eyes only open in the tiniest of slits. For the first time, the panic Steve feels is enough to override every other urge his body can force upon him.

He smells Bucky’s blood _but it doesn’t matter._

He can taste it on his tongue _but it doesn’t matter._

He could drink from him right now _but it does. Not. Matter._

What matters is that he _can’t_ hear Bucky’s heart, not at first.

“Bucky!” he shouts, running to his side. He takes in the sight of the straps keeping the brunet hostage and exhales a shaky, “Oh my God…” under his breath. He has to move fast – he isn’t sure whether the explosions that have started to tear down the factory are due to the ruckus caused by the escaped prisoners, or perhaps a self-destruction sequence enacted by Hydra itself to force them all out of there – but he refuses to leave without Bucky.

Quickly, he yanks free all of the bonds over Bucky’s body and then grabs the side of his face and starts shaking. “Bucky! Bucky, wake up!” he orders sternly. His voice cracks on the last word, because Bucky’s body jostles on the ruthlessly cold, steel surface but otherwise, there’s no reaction. This is one of those moments where the ghosting pulse of Steve’s useless heart feels as though it thumps wildly in his chest. He doesn’t know if the serum gave him the ability to _feel_ things more intensely, too, or maybe that’s just the result of his curse – but all he feels now is dread, and _this can’t be happening_ , _he won’t believe it, he won’t._

“Bucky!” he cries desperately, turning his face towards him and opening up his eyelids to get a look at his pupils. They neither expand nor shrink in the light of the room; there’s nothing there but hollow space. Before Steve realizes it, he feels the first semblance of warmth that he can recall feeling in _months_ when his cheeks grow wet with tears. He hadn’t lost the ability to cry. He could’ve gone the rest of his existence without having to discover that.

Not under these circumstances.

He hears the deafening _BOOMS_ of more explosions throughout the factory, and he _needs_ to get out of there, but he can’t, and he won’t. If Bucky’s dead, then there’s nothing left for him. He’ll take his chances and let the fires eventually swallow him up and consume him, and maybe if he’s lucky, they’ll take whatever remains of his life with the destruction and the rubble. Clenching his teeth and releasing an agonized sound, he throws his arm over Bucky’s stomach and drops his face into his best friend’s chest. He keeps repeating a string of broken _no, no, no’s_ – but if there truly _is_ a God, He must _hate_ Steve Rogers, because none of it brings Bucky back.

Until--

Until he hears the smallest, softest _thud_ , right below his chin. If he were anymore human, he would’ve missed it. Blinking and sniffling loudly, he presses his ear to Bucky’s chest and goes very still, so as not to make any noise. It takes far too long, but eventually, there’s another gentle _thud-THUD_.

It’s still beating. Bucky’s still alive, but only _just._ Steve makes to grab him and run from the room when he realizes that Bucky might not even make it long enough for Steve to get him out of the burning building. There’s undoubtedly too much smoke filling every hallway and possible exit route – and Bucky’s hardly capable of breathing right now as it is. One or two inhalations of that black air and his heart would most likely give out. But unlike Steve, there’d be no magic potion to bring him back from it.

Frantically, he runs to the window and smashes it open with his elbow. He pops his head out to assess the distance from their floor to the ground. It’s a fair ways up; if he was only worrying about himself, he knows he could make it. But holding Bucky in his arms, he doesn’t want to risk losing his grip on him and sending his friend plummeting. He’d meet his death for sure.

_There’s no other way._

No… He can’t. He won’t. _He’s_ the monster – he can’t subject Bucky to the same fate…

But what else can he do…? It’s either lose him or condemn his soul.

Maybe it’s for purely selfish reasons, but Steve tries to tell himself that it’s done out of love. Perhaps they’re really one in the same, because… he can’t let Bucky die. He just can’t.

 _In the decades, the_ centuries _that he would turn out to live through, there would never be a moment where Steve hated himself more than when he decided to change Bucky Barnes._

Running back over to him, he turns Bucky’s face the other way and exposes the expanse of his throat. The brunet’s skin is stained with dirt and old, dried blood. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Steve keeps whispering; angry, self-loathing tears streaming down his face now. At first, he doesn’t think he can do it. He leans in and parts his lips only to make a pained sound and straighten back up. But the gap between Bucky’s weak heartbeats is growing larger, and Steve’s running out of time.

A flash of what eternity _without_ Bucky would feel like flickers through his mind, and the grief that suddenly consumes Steve – overwhelming and torturous and worse than any Hell he could ever think of – is what makes his decision for him.

He surges forward; latches his mouth to the curve of Bucky’s neck – attacking the pulse point purely on instinct alone - and pierces the skin with his canines as easily as a blade would glide into hot butter. Thick, crimson liquid spills from the puncture marks around his teeth. Steve seals his lips around it and begins to gulp it down.

It’s the first time he’s ever tasted human blood.

His entire body comes alight – like the most intense orgasm he’s ever had, only it thrums _everywhere_ , _pulses_ from everywhere, _seems to originate_ from everywhere. He can feel it gush into his mouth and pour down his throat, through his intestines, into his stomach. He can literally feel as it fills him up. He’s never tasted anything like this – and he doesn’t know if he can stop.

Bucky doesn’t react, not at first; he’s so close to death that his entire body remains lax, even amidst the onslaught. Steve whimpers deep in his throat as he squeezes his eyes tighter and furrows his brows. Grabbing the top of Bucky’s head, he tightens his fingers into the brown tresses and gets a sturdy grip before sliding his teeth out…

Only to bring them back down and pierce into a fresh patch of skin closer to his ear. A fresh pool of blood fills his mouth and he _moans_ – at about the same time that the tiniest, almost inaudible little noise comes from Bucky’s throat. Just as quickly as he’d let himself get lost, Steve’s whole body goes rigid when he realizes what he’s so close to doing. He yanks his head back – blood smearing all around his chin and down his own neck – to look to Bucky’s face.

The brunet’s eyes are still only just _barely_ open, but now Steve can see the irises rolling around in his head without focus. Bucky’s starting to slip away.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Steve whispers hurriedly, in the hopes that his friend might hear it and the assurance will somehow soothe him. He feels that familiar panic again. “Just… Buck, stay with me, just _hang on_!”

Just as he’d done when biting into him, Steve’s basal instincts take over and he lets the monster inside of him guide his actions. Bringing his wrist to his mouth, he punctures into the main artery; tasting his own blood when it spills out. Grabbing the back of Bucky’s head, he tilts it up and then uses his thumb to part his friend’s lips. He presses his wound to Bucky’s mouth.

At first, there’s no physical response. Steve watches the four, thin holes where Steve had sunken his teeth ooze out thin, steady trickles of Bucky’s blood – and Steve becomes stricken with fear, thinking he’d gone too far; pushed Bucky straight into Death’s arms because he’d lost control for a second too long. He shakes Bucky’s head a bit and shoves his wrist against him harder.

“Come on, Buck, please!” he shouts. The explosions are getting louder; _closer_. They could only have _seconds_ left, for all he knows. “Buck, drink it, _please!_ Don’t leave me - don’t _do_ this to me, _PLEASE, BUCKY!_ ”

It isn’t so much a sucking action as he suddenly feels the tip of Bucky’s soft, spongy tongue tap against his wrist. There’s still no reaction on the older man’s face, but Steve knows his blood’s been leaking into Bucky’s open mouth, so it must be starting to work.

“That’s it,” he exhales quickly, his eyes widening with surprise and just a _glimmer_ of hope. He hadn’t actually known for sure that this would be successful; he’d only followed the actions that his body had told him to and prayed for the best.

As the seconds pass, Steve’s flooded with relief when first, he sees little twitches start returning to Bucky’s features. Then, he’s actually pressing his mouth _back_ until he begins to suck on the wound. The longer he ingests Steve’s blood, the more aware he seems to become. Suddenly, his eyes are squeezing all the way shut, and Bucky makes a low sound deep in his throat – _as though he was parched and getting his first mouthful of water_ – before his hands fly up and grab roughly at Steve’s arm, holding it in place.

Bucky’s not fully coherent, but he’s regained enough consciousness to start sucking with fervor. Steve’s face pinches up as he hisses. It’s an unpleasant feeling, bordering on pain; it literally feels as though Bucky’s draining him of his energy, making him feel more and more tired. He can’t let Bucky stay latched to him forever. He isn’t sure what will happen but his instincts rev back up and sense of self-preservation kicks back in, so he guesses that this could very well _kill_ him if he isn’t careful.

When it feels like too much, Steve starts trying to pull his hand back. Bucky won’t let go. “Buck,” Steve chokes out. “Buck, _stop_ \--”

Bucky doesn’t; only sucks harder.

“Bucky!” Steve repeats anxiously, volume rising. “ _Stop,_ I said _stop!_ ”

Pressing his other hand to the edge of the slab, he applies a bit more of his strength and pushes himself away. _Finally_ , he’s too powerful for the brunet, and he’s able to break free – sending him falling backwards and hitting his head off of the wall. Groaning, he rubs his skull with his hand, squinting up at the slab, where he can only see the upper half of Bucky’s body.

Suddenly, his best friend’s back snaps off the surface and Bucky _howls_ in agony.

Steve knows what’s happening; he leaps to his feet and runs to his best guy’s side to clutch his face. His guilt is written all over his own. Bucky’s eyes are wide now, and _fully_ aware. His hands are shooting around the slab, clutching at everything for some purchase – something to magically make the pain inside of him disappear – but they find nothing. His gaze snaps to Steve’s face as he writhes and lets out a terrified, helpless, _wounded_ noise.

“It’s okay,” Steve says quickly, trying to stay calm. Inside, he hates himself - absolutely fucking _despises_ himself for putting Bucky through this. He’d forgotten that Bucky would have to suffer through this part. It’d been just as distressful for him when he’d experienced it, too. He strokes the side of his face – cards his fingers through Bucky’s hair – but it does little in terms of _helping_. So he just keeps repeating, “Shh, shh, don’t be scared, _I’m so sorry, Buck,_ I didn’t know what else to do, it’ll all be over soon, just _hold on_ , stay with me, your body’s dying – I know it hurts, _Bucky, m’so fucking sorry_ , shh, it’s okay…”

The entire time, Bucky keeps trying to roll off the table; probably squirm away, like that would help… Like he could crawl from it. His spine rolls up and down and he keeps opening and closing his eyes; baring his teeth as he hisses in air and groans out loud pained sounds. Steve startles slightly when it sounds like something detonates not that far from where they are. The place is going to blow – they need to get _out_ of there, or this reunion is going to be short-lived.

At the same time, Bucky’s right hand flies up and clutches onto Steve’s bicep. He stares back down at Bucky’s face and Bucky’s looking up at him with wild, frightened eyes. He’s still baring his teeth but now his breathing is quick and erratic – as if he was having a heart attack. Steve remembers this part. It hurts the worst… _so_ badly, it washes over your body _so_ badly and feels like it paralyzes you…

However, Steve also remembers that this part means it’s almost over. So he leans down closer and whispers quickly, “It’s okay, it’s okay, Buck. You’re gonna be okay - I’m right here, _please forgive me_ , it’ll all be over soon. _I’m so sorry_ , _I’m sorry_ ; you won’t feel a thing soon, I promise…”

It only lasts a few more seconds, though it feels like forever. Steve feels it in his bicep exactly when Bucky’s body stops being wracked with agony. His grip eases up as he slumps back against the slab. All of the tension leaves his facial features and his head lolls to the side; grey eyes still wide and now staring up at the ceiling, glazed.

Steve’s never seen this happen before, so he isn’t prepared for what he witnesses next.

Every blemish, every scar, every _cut_ on Bucky’s face slowly vanishes, as does – inexplicably – the dirt and dried blood all over his skin. It literally just… _disappears._ His chapped, cracked lips regain their colour as his skin drains away of its own, leaving his complexion alabaster and looking as smooth as marble. The texture of his hair thickens just the slightest bit, bringing back that youthful look to his features that Steve hasn’t seen since long before the war, and the chestnut shade of the strands deepens; becomes richer. From beneath his top lip – his mouth still slightly ajar – Steve watches the points of his canines suddenly appear, the teeth elongating.

The last thing to change is his eyes. The greyish-blue Steve had always known seeps away, leaving his irises white for a fraction of a second before a new hue starts to bleed back in… Ice blue; pale, with a dark ring of black surrounding the irises. The startling new colour makes his lashes look even darker than they had before.

He’s… he’s _stunning._

Steve’s still getting used to his new body; how it processes and handles emotions. Over time, they would both come to realize that what they’d been in the beginning – what Bucky now is and what _Steve still is_ – were ‘newborns’. That’s the easiest way to describe it. And so early on, everything feels so much more intense; overwhelming. You can’t handle all of the culminating emotions at once and filter through them like a normal human being can, so all you can deal with is one at a time. If you feel angry, it’s processed as _rage_ and, even if for but a few seconds, that’s the only emotion that drives you. If you’re sad, it feels like the deepest _sorrow_ you’ve ever known. It takes time to learn how to tame these things and control your emotions the way you once had in your previous life.

But Steve doesn’t know any of these things now. All he knows is, for a second in time, he feels like he has a functioning heart again and that it’s currently overflowing. It feels like it’s racing uncontrollably in his chest, and all Steve knows is that Bucky is the single most important thing to him… That he looks so _beautiful_ , and Steve wants to kiss him.

It’s _almost_ enough to get him to do so, but then another explosion goes off in the distance and reminds him of where they are; what’s important. So he’ll have to take the time to appreciate and bask in everything that is _Bucky_ later. It almost painshim to have to wait.

He shakes Bucky’s shoulders and repeats his name. The brunet’s eyes are still focused upwards and zoned out, but as his body shakes lightly under Steve’s hands, his face turns, bringing his gaze to his best friend’s face. There’s a second there where things don’t seem to click - and then suddenly, the smallest, most amazed smile turns up the corners of Bucky’s mouth.

“It’s me; it’s Steve,” Steve’s reassuring him.

“S-Steve…” Bucky echoes, like he just can’t believe it. He looks up at him like Steve’s likewise the most wondrous thing he’s ever laid his eyes on, and that perhaps he’s not really there at _all_ … That maybe this whole thing is just some wonderful dream.

“Come on,” Steve urges.

Bucky just keeps repeating his name in disbelief while Steve helps him into a sitting position. Bucky can’t take his eyes off of him, as he reaches out and grabs the blond’s arms for balance and lowers himself from the slab onto shaky legs. Steve clasps the side of his neck and laments, “I thought you were dead.”

“I thought you were _smaller_ ,” Bucky replies; ice blue eyes now swiping up and down Steve’s new stature and looking _more_ shocked at that than what he’d just been through. Steve wonders if Bucky’s even fully _aware_ of what just happened to him; if he even remembers, even though it’d only occurred mere seconds ago.

“C’mon, we gotta go,” Steve says. He slings an arm around Bucky’s shoulder and heads to the window. He notices that though Bucky’s _mostly_ moving normally, he’s still a little sluggish. It’s probably been _days_ since he’d been given a proper meal, and that’s _not_ taking into account the thirst Steve knows Bucky most definitely needs to quench in his new body. Glancing out the window, he spares Bucky a skeptical glance and realizes that it’s still too soon to hope that Bucky would know what to do if they were to jump out of it. And he can’t go assuming that just because his own body seems to hold up against any threatening elements that Bucky’s would do the same. It’s still near impossible to decipher what had been a result of his curse and what had been due to the serum.

They’ll have to go through the burning building. He helps lead Bucky towards the door. Bucky’s eyes are still on him and he asks, “What happened to you?”

Stepping out into the hallway, Steve looks from left to right and decides which direction they should head in. Half distracted, he tries to joke back, “I joined the army.”

Bucky’s strong enough now that they can go from walking to breaking out into a quicker stride, since time is of the essence. Still, Bucky seems to have no regard for what’s going on around them. Steve’s almost surprised when he keeps pushing the matter, asking next, “Did it hurt?”

Steve isn’t sure whether he’s referring to whatever made him bigger like this, or if he _does_ know that Steve went through the same thing he just did. Either way, he answers truthfully, “About as much as it just did with you.”

“Is it permanent?”

Steve falters in his step. Frowning to himself, he offers Bucky an apologetically weak look and answers, “So far…”

The unspoken repetition of, _I’m so sorry_ , seems to translate into the momentary silence between them. Bucky’s eyes search his, matched by his own frown. Steve doesn’t know what to expect but he wouldn’t put it past Bucky to slug him right about now, at the realization Steve’s words might have just dawned on him. He’d deserve as much; Hell, he deserves _worse_. But then Bucky looks back down the hallway with a grim nod and says, “Let’s go.”

For now, that seems to give Bucky something to think about, because the Sergeant stops asking questions.

Most of the interior is falling apart around them and honestly, Steve’s not entirely sure where they’re supposed to go. But he’d memorized his path _into_ the building and so he relies on retracing his steps in order to get them out. They jog through a doorway, into a room where one side is connecting to the other, way, way up high, by several narrow walkways. The quickest route is down the one closest to the far right wall, so they head towards it.

Just as they round the corner to step onto the walkway, Steve hears someone with a German accent call out, “Well! If it isn’t Dr. Erskine’s most recent _pet!_ ”

They come to a halt. At the end of the walkway, on the other side, stands a tall man with a shorter one by his side. _The man Steve had seen leave the room Bucky was in_. He looks terrified, whereas the taller man beside him speaks easily with confidence. Steve guesses that this is the infamous Schmidt, though he isn’t sure how exactly he knows about Steve’s involvement in the Super Soldier Program; how he got that information. He also wonders, _how much does he know about what happened?_

It would appear as though Schmidt hadn’t known _enough_ to have been expecting the sight of Steve when he finally gets a good look at him. Whatever he’d thought he’d known, it hadn’t been this – not if the spark of confusion that flickers across his eyes, the way his mouth opens to speak again but then closes, dumbfounded, is any indication. Normally, this would be another of those moments when Steve can’t help but fear how he must look to the rest of the world. He sees Schmidt, and Schmidt sees _him_ , and just like the prisoners, it seems to be sinking in that he’s staring into the face of a monster.

Normally, that’s what he would think, except there’s only _one_ emotion that filters through first, and thus it’s the only emotion Steve’s mind can focus on: _fury_ , in its purest form. _This_ is the man who’s been hurting so many innocent people… _The reason_ why Bucky had been taken captive… _This_ man had left Steve no choice but to doom his best friend’s life, because there had been no other options.

He doesn’t even realize that Bucky’s snarling animalistically by his side.

There’s a fraction of a moment when Schmidt seems to realize that between the four of them, him and his lackey, Zola, are the _prey_ in this game of predators. Whatever he’d heard of Steve Rogers and the failed experiment hadn’t been enough to prepare him for what stood on the other side of that walkway—

That walkway that Steve crosses in under a split second – _his reflexes are outmatched and too quick for Schmidt to keep up with_ – before grabbing the German by the throat and clutching with every intent to _kill._ Schmidt’s eyes are instantly wide, bulging from his head, and Steve’s own head, it’s spinning again, and the monster inside is taking over with only one goal that matters. The man in his grip needs to die, and so die he _will._ Steve will make sure of that.

In his peripherals, Zola turns on his heel as soon as he sees Steve attack his leader and tries to make a run for it. That’s when Steve hears the horrifying sound of Bucky’s voice ripping through the large room – louder than any of the destruction going on around them. The noise is fitting, in that it doesn’t even sound _human_. It’s ferocious, deadly, and filled with venom. Steve never takes his eyes off of Schmidt’s face, even as the man tries to break out of the vice grip around his neck and starts to struggle for air…

Not even as Steve sees Bucky suddenly attack Zola from the corner of his eye; rushing the smaller man up against the nearest wall and getting his own hand around the scientist’s neck.

Bucky drags Zola up the wall with newfound, impressive strength. The look on his face is about the same as Steve’s: teeth bared, _dangerous,_ eyes ablaze with bloodlust. Steve isn’t going to stop him. Because the man in _his_ hand, whose life is slowly starting to fade from his eyes right in front of Steve, may have been indirectly responsible for Bucky’s torture - but the man in _Bucky’s_ was the one who’d called the shots; always held the syringes and the weapons and _anything they’d used to bring him pain._ This is about revenge; his monster is clearly just as lethal as Steve’s.

It’s not about blood – not at first. In fact, Steve has no immediate intent on even biting into Schmidt. He just wants to crush his windpipe until there’s no more life in the man’s body. But then three things seem to happen all at once:

_…One…_

Bucky lunges forward with another one of those monstrous shrieks.

_…Two…_

Zola screams in pain.

_…Three…_

There’s the sudden scent of blood.

_So much blood…_

And Steve’s eyes widen. There’s enough coherence in Schmidt for fear to flash across his features one last time, as the smell goes straight to Steve’s brain and violently snaps every tether that could’ve possibly held him together. Bucky’s snarling off to his left; the sound muffled, as he keeps Zola held up and pinned to the wall. The way he’s feeding off of him is nothing short of _brutal;_ messy and gory and unforgiving.

The last sound that Steve hears is the mixture of Bucky’s throat working to swallow the mouthful he has going on, and a fresh splash of Zola’s blood hitting the floor. And then there’s a scream – _or it sounds like a scream at least_ – but it doesn’t come from Schmidt. It’s like Bucky’s had been, only deeper, and it tears through _Steve’s_ chest, up his throat, out his mouth… before he locks his arm around Schmidt’s lower back and slams their bodies together; his other hand releasing the German’s throat long enough to palm the top of his head and forcing it to the side.

When his fangs cruelly dig in, Schmidt makes a low, anxious sound, but Steve doesn’t care about that. There’s something covering this man’s face, he realizes… But he doesn’t care about _that_ either. All he cares about is the blood pouring in torrents into his mouth.

How delicious it tastes.

How good this feels.

How the weakening heartbeat massages his tongue through the meal and soothes him.

Zola’s smaller, so there isn’t as much for Bucky to have. Steve remembers that first hunger. It feels like it can never be satisfied. ( _His_ hadn’t felt properly so until he’d tasted Bucky’s blood, but that’s a thing he’ll never confess out loud.) So when the brunet yanks his head back – the scientist now dead in his grasp – and lets the body collapse back to the ground, he of course turns and looks directly at Steve.

Steve’s eyes are closed – his throat still working away as he drinks everything he can manage – and he shouldn’t be able to _feel_ Bucky’s eyes on him in his crazed state, but somehow he _does._ In fact, he’s never been more hyperaware of Bucky’s every movement. He pulls back ( _can’t stay detached for too long because Schmidt doesn’t have much time left and this shouldn’t be wasted)_ and looks to his best friend.

Bucky’s irises are a deep red instead of the pale blue they’d been only minutes before. Steve didn’t know they could do that. When things have settled down, he’ll wonder if that’s a thing they share or if he somehow looks different, but for now that’s of no matter. Bucky still looks animal-like, but Steve knows he isn’t the one in danger. They’d never hurt each other, even like this. But Steve can _feel_ it in Bucky: how thirsty he still is, how his throat’s still scorching with flames, just as unrelenting as the ones surrounding them.

So Steve makes his offering by turning his head and biting back in on the other side of Schmidt’s neck, leaving the already wounded side for Bucky to just latch his lips onto. Within seconds, Bucky’s there, and they both rip new holes and suck old ones _bigger_ around Schmidt’s throat… until they feel his heart give its final beat.

They’re panting as they pull away. Steve lets Schmidt’s body fall to the floor, dumped there to burn with his faithful sidekick. They still haven’t come down from their frenzy yet; still too young in their rebirths to be able to form coherent speech past the bloodlust in their brains. But for now, the burning need subsides and they can at least remember their priorities. Looking to each other, Bucky gives a small nod. Steve returns it, and together they turn and run through the exit, their strength renewed.

* * *

They watch the burning building from where they’re hidden in the trees. They’d managed to get out undetected, and from there, they can watch the escaped prisoners continue to take down the Hydra soldiers. Steve feels confident that if they needed some extra assistance, he’d fed enough to be able to step in if he has to without putting any of the innocent men in danger. But instead, he has to stay where he is; keeping a big hand on Bucky’s chest so the brunet remains pinned against a tree and doesn’t give into his own desires. 

Bucky’s eyes are still red. Steve wonders if his are, too. The brunet’s jaw is tense and he keeps squirming beneath Steve’s hand, but he doesn’t actually try and break free. He just never tears his gaze off of the humans fighting each other in the distance, as each breath is taken short and rough and shaky through his nose. Every few seconds, he makes low, distressed sounds. Steve knows how acutely Bucky can smell them; how much this must be killing him right now to not feast on them all.

But they’re not those kinds of men; Steve can’t give up hope that they can still be good. Bucky had always seen Steve as his to take care of – and now it was _Steve’s_ turn. Bucky’s his responsibility; his to keep safe… And that includes not letting Bucky’s monster take over, much like his always fights to.

So he steps in close - pins Bucky’s body harder to the tree with his own – and starts stroking his hair; keeps his lips next to Bucky’s ear and passes a few minutes doing nothing but murmuring encouragement. However, it doesn’t help alleviate Bucky’s tension. So Steve starts to gently kiss the very back of his jaw. Bucky’s absolutely _caked_ in Zola’s and Schmidt’s blood, and Steve can still smell it on him. It tastes delicious from the little bit he gets on his lips with every tender kiss, so he parts them and begins to slowly lick it off.

Bucky inhales deeply at the feeling, and it’s enough to get his eyes to close. Steve can’t ever remember feeling this way… They’re standing so close to battle and yet all he can think about right now is how desperately his body’s screaming for Bucky. His whole world had been about Bucky _before_ , but this is deeper than that. It’s literally like nothing else matters anymore. So he doesn’t stop gliding his tongue against him – below his ear, along Bucky’s chin, his cheek…

Bucky had been clutching at his arms – once gripping with brutal force to try and ground him in his struggle – but now Steve feels them relaxing and tightening rhythmically; matching every deep inhale he takes through his nose. Until his breaths start coming from his opened mouth, loud and desperate and hungry - for blood and for death and for everything carnal and for _Steve_.

Never opening his eyes, Bucky pants raggedly and then suddenly turns his face in towards Steve’s mouth. They haven’t kissed since the day before Bucky had left for basic. That now feels like _years_ ago. Bucky’s lips brush against Steve’s tongue and then close over it, sucking the flaked blood off of it and letting out an _obscene_ groan. With that, Steve takes his face in his hands at the same moment that Bucky throws his arms around Steve’s back, pulling him in, and they crush their lips together.

It’s like its own sort of frenzy all over again. His heart may not beat, but they still both somehow have blood flowing through their veins, and there’s blood in their _mouths_ and on their skin, and Steve can _feel_ and _taste_ and _hear_ Bucky in ways he was never capable of in the past. He’s never yearned for him as badly; never been so fucking hard before.

They kiss as though they’ll never have the chance to again. They kiss to keep Bucky distracted – and honestly, because Steve wouldn’t have been able to refrain from putting his hands on Bucky for another minute at the rate he was going. This was what he’d wanted since he’d watched Bucky turn: to act on this raw, hectic, _unfathomable_ need for him.

It’s fucked up, really – that they’re doing this _where_ they are, given _what’s_ going on around them. But no one knows they’re there; there’s no problem. They got out unseen and they remain unseen--

Bucky’s right hand is running over Steve’s ass now and then squeezing it painfully. Steve involuntarily rocks their hips together, and the sensation that rings through both of them is so much more than anything they could’ve ever felt in their old lives. Steve squeezes his eyes tighter and hisses, so Bucky just chases his mouth again and fucks his tongue into it faster.

Steve only breaks away after a few seconds to feverishly lick and suck along the curve of Bucky’s neck, lapping away more of the blood and leaving the porcelain skin coated in his saliva instead. He pants harshly against his lover’s flesh, and all Bucky can do is tip his head back against the bark and fist his hand in Steve’s hair… _Moan_ , openly but drowned out by the persistent gunfire, and then gasp when they both grind their clothed erections back against each other.

“Fuck me…” Bucky starts breathing. “Fuck me, _fuck me…_ ”

Steve tries to ask, _‘Here?’_ but when he goes to speak, all he does is moan instead. It’s like he has no control over his body like this - much like he hadn’t been the one behind the wheel the second he’d seen Schmidt’s face or smelled Zola’s blood.

“ _Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me_ ,” Bucky keeps chanting deliriously; _begging_ for it.

They shouldn’t – _oh God, they could be caught_. They could be seen and then there’d be no stopping Bucky and probably no stopping him either. Steve can only contain himself for so long. He can only be pushed so far, they really shouldn’t -- but _oh fuck, God, yes_ , Bucky’s going for _his_ neck now and his tongue is on him and his hands, they’re frantically undoing Steve’s pants and when he shoves his hand down and kneads Steve’s cock, _oh_ , oh he can’t… They can’t…

He knocks Bucky’s face up with his own and lunges back in, shoving the Sergeant’s head against the tree from the force and making him release this _wrecked, needy_ sound into Steve’s mouth. He starts pumping his cock… Shoves his slacks down Steve’s thighs and then _really_ jerks him off, and they shouldn’t, they shouldn’t, _oh they shouldn’t_ —

But then he feels his hands flying to Bucky’s regulation army pants and he’s undoing them and yanking them down before his mind even catches up with his actions. And Bucky’s _gone_ , Bucky’s so gone, he can’t stop the prayer that keeps flying from his lips. It’s like he’ll kiss Steve’s mouth, beat their tongues together, only to growl out _fuck me_ with every other breath – like Steve isn’t getting with the program fast enough.

The _moment_ both of their cocks are free, Bucky shoves Steve forward just enough for him to spin around and press his forehead to the rough bark of the tree. He braces himself against it and pushes his ass back against Steve, and now _he’s_ gone – can’t see straight, can barely stay _standing_ … They breathe roughly as Steve spits in his hand and then shoves two fingers unceremoniously into Bucky’s asshole.

_Gunfire… gunfire in the distance…_

Steve would’ve never done it like this before. Bucky would’ve been pained by it but if he is _now_ , he _likes_ it. He lets out this strange, fucking _filthy_ sound Steve’s never heard him make. It reminds him of the noise Bucky had made when he’d advanced on Zola, target locked and going in for the kill. This only fuels Steve more. All the while, Bucky never stops whispering, faster and faster, for Steve to fuck him.

His fingers move harshly and can’t be in him for more than ten seconds. He doesn’t even have the frame of mind to slather his own erection with saliva; just pulls his hand away, spits onto his fingers a second time, and then shoves them back in long enough to circle his hole with it before replacing them with his cock. Bucky shouts into the air and Steve _growls_ – real and predatory, like the natural killers they’ve become – because Bucky’s _his,_ he’s _his,_ he’s _fucking his_ , and suddenly his thoughts are vulgar in a way they’ve never been. It’s fast and it’s brutal and Bucky chokes out blissful, strained groans every time Steve slams into him. They fuck like animals because that’s what they are now.

Bucky _still_ doesn’t stop crying out, _fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…_

Bucky comes first, so much sooner than Steve had anticipated. It makes sense when he realizes that his lover had placed a hand on himself and had been fucking his fist in tandem with the rhythm Steve had established. He shudders all over, and the hand still gripping the tree clenches with so much force that some of the bark splits beneath his fingertips before they bury themselves about an inch into the trunk itself.

_Gunfire… gunfire in the distance – he’s so fucking beautiful, he’s so fucking beautiful, he’s mine, he’s mine, he’s mine—_

Steve pounds into him harder; reaches forward and grabs Bucky’s hair and tugs, yanking his head back and making his neck arch. Bucky moans Steve’s name _like he still can’t get enough_ , and suddenly Steve’s coming, too. Never stopping his thrusts, he empties himself into Bucky’s body – and now Bucky’s filled with his come _and_ his blood, and it shouldn’t rush to Steve’s head like that but it _does._ It’s the best orgasm he’s ever had.

As the throes of ecstasy start to fade away, Steve returns to himself; regains control, piece by piece. Worried he’d been too rough and hurt Bucky, he leans in and kisses his apologies along the back of his neck. Bucky just twists and palms the back of Steve’s head, covering his mouth with his own and kissing him deeply with a loud sigh.

Bucky tries to _keep_ kissing him – tries to physically _hold Steve in place_ and not let him go. He wants to go _again_ , already. Bucky’s still so new in his turn; he wants everything – everything there is to _taste_ , _feel_ , _eat_... Steve’s had at least a little time to start getting used to these changes, but Bucky’s not even an hour old. Everything’s going to be hard for him to handle for a while.

It’s dangerous, _tempting_ territory because Steve _wants_ to dive head-first back in again. It could be the serum or it could be the monster inside him that wants nothing but to _fuck_ right now, day and night; _fuck Bucky until he’s crying and shaking and can’t say anything other than how much he loves Steve_ … And honestly, it scares him a little. Because this isn’t who he’s supposed to be; this sort of _want_ can’t be good.

That’s what forces him to pull out with as much gentleness as he can muster. Bucky whines, sounding wounded - similar to how he’d sounded when the venom in Steve’s blood had been killing his body.  Steve quickly pulls his pants back up as the brunet turns around and leans against the tree to look at him. _Fuck_ , Bucky’s still so hard, it makes Steve want to just--

No, he can’t. Not right now. He shouldn’t have let them do that in the first place, he’d just… he’d lost control again. He can smell his ejaculation as it runs down the back of Bucky’s inner leg, but his best friend doesn’t seem to care. Bucky still looks hungry and unpredictable. But then he surprises Steve by squeezing his eyes shut, releasing a heavy breath, and tugging his own pants back up his thighs. Steve doesn’t know what to do other than step in and take his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, leaning in and kissing him.

Bucky’s brows are knit – because the orgasm had helped to ease the chaos in his brain a _little_ ,but now that it was over his mind already seems to be honing back in on the scent of the men in the distance. The sounds of battle are dying down. Steve suspects that one side is coming out victorious; he just doesn’t know which one yet. Bucky opens his eyes and says sharply, “ _Don’t._ Don’t ruin something that felt fucking phenomenal. I needed that – don’t you dare ruin this for me.”

“Okay,” the blond replies quickly. He apologizes _again_ for apologizing, so Bucky just makes a frustrated sound and snarls, “ _Stop!_ ” before kissing Steve to shut him up. “Stop,” he repeats, gentler this time. Steve nods against his lips, biting back the urge to say it again. Bucky gives a single nod in return and then presses his mouth in a tight line, dropping his head forward. Steve holds him close; feels how tense Bucky still is, even after all that.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Bucky huffs a few times, struggling to respond. When he does, it sounds desperate and self-deprecatingly pitiful. “M’still hungry.”

“I’m sorry, Buck…”

“I can smell them… _Fuck_ , I can smell them from all the way over here, Steve.”

“I know…”

“They smell so _good_ … It fucking _hurts_ ,” Bucky admits through gritted teeth.

Steve kisses his forehead – like that could help any. “I know, Buck, I – I’ll find us some food soon, okay? I’ll take care of it,” he promises. Bucky seems to want to fight him on it. Steve has no doubt that he’s using every shred of his impulse control to stop himself from suddenly shoving Steve aside and still running out into the clearing anyways. But Bucky’s still _good_ , he _is_ , because he reluctantly nods again.

But he _also_ still looks back to the dwindled number of men with longing painted all over his features. Guiltily, Steve presses the side of his jaw to Bucky’s temple, looks to where Bucky’s looking, and then says quietly, “I’m going to have to go and leave the map somewhere where they can find it.”

“Don’t leave me,” Bucky says immediately, voice instantly straining. “Not if you want me to stay here. You let me go and I’ll be halfway there before you can stop me.”

It’s as good as a promise.

“I can be fast,” Steve responds. “They don’t know where the nearest station of American troops is located, but I do. All they need is a way to lead them there, and then I’ll be right back.”

Turning his best friend’s face towards him, Steve presses their foreheads together so he can look into Bucky’s eyes. They’re halfway between red and ice blue - but the crimson keeps trying to stain its way back and win Bucky over. The fact that it _hasn’t_ yet means that Bucky’s trying. He has to be fighting _really_ hard; Steve remembers how near impossible that had always felt in the beginning.

“You can do it, I know you can,” Steve encourages. “One second, that’s all I need.”

“One second,” Bucky echoes. “That’s all I can give you.”

The red in his irises bleeds just the tiniest bit further, and Steve knows he isn’t fucking around. But Steve’s speed is incapable of being outmatched. So when he claims that he only needs a single second, this is exactly what he means and he makes good on it. Pulling the map out of his pocket as he runs, he bypasses a handful of American troops (looks like they’d been the victorious ones today) and strategically plants the map where he knows they’ll find it.

He spins on his heel the second it’s placed down and heads back for the forest. It’s incredible – both in a wondrous and _scary_ way – what the world looks like to him now. He runs and time feels as though it still passes normally for him, but he sees the way everyone else around him is frozen; moving with actions too slow ( _far too slow_ ) for Steve to let himself be convinced that this _is_ normal. He’d literally been able to run nearly eighty yards in the length of a heartbeat.

It’s an easy method of measurement when he can hear them all so well, as he zips by undetected past those still in the world of the living. It’s difficult not to let himself get sucked back into that all-too-easy desire to just snatch one of them up and steal them over to Bucky. No one would have even noticed; with how many men he imagines they’ve lost in the last hour, another missing soldier wouldn’t raise any suspicions. And… he rationalizes… they could make it quick for him; puncture the main arteries and he’d undoubtedly bleed out within seconds – wouldn’t even feel a thing. Steve would make it painless for him…

He realizes he’s setting his sights on a nameless troop up to his right; hadn’t even realized his feet were already beginning to steer him slightly off course so he could do just that. But he’s caught himself in time because _no_ , he _won’t_ – it doesn’t need to come to that. He and Bucky can find other means of sustenance.

The single second clearly also felt like much more to Bucky. Even though Steve’s back exactly as quickly as he said he’d be, Bucky’s already quivering and gripping the trunk next to him so hard that Steve can hear the girth starting to groan beneath the pressure, like it’s very well ready to snap in half. Bucky looks to him as Steve approaches, and _shit_ , there’s nothing but red again in Bucky’s irises. Bucky’s lips part to speak but then just as quickly squeeze shut again. The only noise the Sergeant emits is a strangled, low whine.

“Hey, it’s okay; I’m back, I’m here,” Steve says quickly, running straight to Bucky and grabbing his face back in his hands.

“Your eyes…” Bucky manages to get out. Every word sounds like a battle for him. “They’re red.”

They are? Something in Steve’s stomach sinks. He thought his ability to stop himself from just _plucking_ one of them away had been a sign of progress. He’d been able to ignore the monster long enough to refuse it the right to take an innocent man’s life. But apparently his body didn’t give a damn about that, because his brain might’ve been telling him to stop, but the _rest_ of him is getting geared back up to hunt.

“I have to get out of here,” Bucky groans. His own eyes keep darting back to the men – who’ve found the map now and are huddled in a big circle to look at it. They’re like sitting ducks… They’re the wolves and the soldiers are grouped together like sheep and _they could just…_

Steve nods and grabs Bucky’s arm, forcibly yanking him in the opposite direction and eventually, making Bucky drop his focus to instead look forward again. Steve has absolutely no idea where they’re going – _there’s nowhere_ for _them to go anymore; he has no place in the world and now he’s dragged Bucky down with him_. But there’s an unspoken agreement that the destination is anywhere where they can be _away_ from any human with a heartbeat.

Their feet carry them deeper and deeper into the woods for almost two hours. They follow their unmarked path in complete silence. Along the way, they come across a deer, which Steve promptly subdues within moments of spotting it. Steve’s not feeling all _that_ hungry, so he only takes a bit for himself. He leaves the rest for Bucky, who in contrast is _starving._ Steve has to stop him when the brunet keeps trying to provoke more blood flow by biting all around the dead carcass, long after everything it has to offer is gone.

When it comes to animals, Steve’s gotten the hang of making it as clean as possible when he eats. His face and neck are still covered in dry blood – both Bucky’s and Schmidt’s – but that had been different. Bucky, though, he’s still in that stage where his instincts take over and it’s _messy_ and _barbaric._ Steve’s both frightened and strangely aroused at watching the way Bucky devours it like a caged animal who’s finally been freed; at hearing the low growls that rumble around in his throat the entire time it works to swallow the blood.

When Bucky finally gets the memo and sits back, finished, the entire front of his shirt is wet with fresh blood. It’s smeared down his neck and somehow, even running as far up his face as to be coating his cheekbones. It’s a little disgusting – namely because animal blood doesn’t smell _nearly_ as good as humans’ does – but also, Steve thinks, endearing? Beautiful?

 _Fuck, he’s a disgusting son of a bitch to find such a thing attractive._ He pets the deer’s head, even though it’s long since left this world, and mutters a quick prayer under his breath before they rise to their feet and continue walking.

There are a couple close calls; instances where they can hear or see hidden soldiers of different nationalities littered around parts of the woods before they can see _them_. Then they either use their speed to rush past them before they can be detected, or find an alternate route. Every time, Steve can sense the longing in Bucky’s mind and body. He still isn’t sure how that’s possible.

On the one hand, it’s a good thing, because it allows him to take the proper course of action so nothing bad happens. But it’s also horrible, because sometimes his own yearning isn’t even triggered _until_ Bucky’s seems to seep into him. Luckily for the men that unknowingly cross their paths, they’d caught and fed off of two more wild animals beforehand, so Bucky’s more or less full for now. It’s just that the _desire_ for better-tasting blood never really goes away.

They keep going for another few hours, and still they don’t speak, not really. Steve wants to ask Bucky what he’s thinking about. Is he angry with Steve? Is he seconds away from bursting? It leaves the blond constantly on edge. But yet it’s even _more_ confusing, because even though Bucky isn’t saying a word, he’d also taken Steve’s hand in his and every few minutes, he’ll squeeze it or brush his thumb over Steve’s knuckle – just once or twice.

Since they’re in the Alps now, the higher they ascend into the mountains within the forest, the colder is it - so the more comfortable they feel. There are also far less soldiers in these parts. Eventually they realize that they haven’t come across anybody in almost one-hundred and thirteen minutes. They happen upon a small stream of fresh running water, with a little clearing buried in the trees close by. It’s a good a place as any for them to crash for the night. Steve doesn’t mention the fact that he no longer sleeps. There’s no way of knowing yet if _Bucky_ will still need to or not.

Trudging over to the water, they take their time to clean away the mess from their skin. Steve spares little side glances over to Bucky while they do; mentally berating himself the entire time because _now it not the time or place_ , and yet all he can think as he sees the blotchy patches of red and brown disappear from his best friend’s skin is that _Christ, Steve has_ never _seen anything so miraculously beautiful in his life._ Bucky’s always been unfairly handsome, but now, his features are ethereal, to the point of dizziness.

Frustratingly, Steve notes that he’s aroused again. His body and brain seem to have two basic settings around Bucky so far: the intense desire to feed and the intense desire to fuck. Steve can’t seem to find any reprieve from either of them, and he hopes that this will sort itself out over time, because it doesn’t seem like a realistic way to function. He can’t just spend eternity constantly going directly back and forth between frenzies, right? Can’t just pass the time drinking blood and claiming Bucky’s body, _knowing_ it’ll never be enough for him… right?

Suddenly, once Bucky’s all cleaned up and looking far less deadly again, he breaks the silence by sitting back on his haunches and letting out a loud breath. “Okay,” he says, sounding _far_ more like his old self. His eyes are back to their pale blue colour again; have been for a while. He gets a tiny, dry smile as he stares down at the stream. “Guess there’s nothing else to do, huh? Might as well make a fire, yeah?”

He probably means nothing by his words, but Steve automatically takes them the worst way possible anyways. The guilt he’d been feeling earlier washes back over him again, stronger than ever. When Bucky turns that smile onto him, Steve can’t return it. He just averts eye contact and nods, turning away and leaving to gather branches and whatever else can be used for a fire. He has to force himself not to look back as he walks away – even though he can _feel_ Bucky’s eyes on him and he can _see_ the confusion on his best friend’s face, the _worry_ … even without having to really see Bucky’s face at all.

* * *

Steve insists he can make the fire all by himself, and he does. He’s trying extra hard to be accommodating; the fires, the meals, _anything_ – he offers to do it all so Bucky won’t have to worry about it. Bucky sits on the ground, watching ( _and he’d be so cold right now if he was still human but he isn’t and he looks comfortable and Steve feels conflicted about this_ ). 

“You know you don’t have to do all that,” Bucky says lightly. He chuckles near the end, but Steve can still feel his gaze on the back of his head, and something in the Sergeant’s voice is strange.

“I know,” Steve mumbles. There are a good amount of coals burning and the flames are a decent size, so he resolves that it’s fine for now and takes a seat next to Bucky.

Apparently not close enough, though. There’d been so much adrenaline beforehand that Steve had completely forgotten about the bullets lodged in his flesh. Now that things have calmed down, he uses the glow of the fire to start checking casually around his body and dig his fingers into the holes to pull them all out. It hurts, but not nearly as much as he’d expected, so his face is only twisted up a _little_ as he plucks them out between his index finger and thumb and then flicks them aside. He hardly even bleeds as he does it. Turned out he hadn’t gotten hit as many times as he thought he had; by the time he fishes out the last bullet, it only adds up to about a half dozen. Already, the first few wounds are starting to heal themselves; the skin closing back up. Steve’s just thankful that his body hadn’t done that with the bullets still _inside_ of him.

The entire time, he feels Bucky’s eyes on him and very deliberately pretends not to notice.

“What’s going on with you?” Bucky asks abruptly. Steve’s staring back into the fire again, as though afraid to look at him. Bucky sighs. “Seriously, Steve, you didn’t say a word all night and now you’re sitting with enough room to have the entire lineup of the Yankees between us.”

“I’m not sitting that far away,” Steve replies, frowning and finally turning his head towards him. Okay, maybe they’re not so close together that things are _snug_ , but Bucky’s definitely over-exaggerating. “And you didn’t exactly say a word earlier yourself, y’know.”

Bucky brings his knees to his chest and drapes his arms over them. Arching an eyebrow like he can see right through Steve, _just like he’s always been able to_ , he presses, “I wasn’t talkin’ because _you_ weren’t talkin’, dipshit.” He’s trying to make his tone playful, lighthearted – as if he _isn’t_ angry with Steve, and Steve just doesn’t understand because he _should_ be. “Don’t change the subject; you’re deflecting again,” Bucky continues. “Why do you always do that? I’m trying to find out what’s botherin’ you and so far you ain’t giving me much to work with."

“M’fine.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky says quickly. His tone softening, he continues, “Steve, you’ve always been able to talk to me. So _talk_ to me – what is it?”

Steve chews on the inside of his cheek with a deep frown. It takes him a few tries to properly start forming the right words, but then he’s confessing, “I just don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why you’re not sore with me,” Steve says. _There_ , it’s out in the open now. He’s opened the door and Bucky can step right on through it and let him have it. Turning his head towards him, he continues, “You should be _furious_ with me, Buck. I know you’re not stupid; you know what I did to you and yet you haven’t even brought it up once.”

Bucky laughs, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “What – _what_ was I supposed to say, Steve? ‘Holy fucking shit, did you just turn me into a _vampire_?’ Is _that_ what I was supposed to say?”

Steve shifts a bit and averts his gaze, embarrassed. “Don’t call us that,” he mumbles.

Bucky arches a brow. “Why not? It’s exactly what we are, ain’t it? The fangs, the whole ‘I need blood to survive’ thing – ain’t that what good old Bram wrote about? I don’t see the point in us dancin’ around the subject, Steve; we’ve _read_ about this shit. We’re vampires.”

“It’s just… it’s _crazy_ ,” Steve insists stubbornly. In reality, it’s a scary thought because it just feels _wrong_ ; it’s supposed to be nothing but fiction. It isn’t supposed to have ever been something that could actually be _real_ … Something that could actually happen (to _them_ ).

Bucky scoffs, glancing to the fire now, too, and shaking his head. “Trust me, after everything I saw in that place, I don’t think there’s much left I wouldn’t believe in anymore,” he mutters. Huffing quietly, he turns himself so he’s facing the blond. “You think I’m pissed at you for what happened?”

“Yes,” Steve answers, as though that should be obvious. “You should _hate_ me – what I did was wrong, Bucky. I mean, I--”

“You – you _what_?” Bucky interrupts. “You saved my life? You got me the fuck out of that Hellhole? Tell me what exactly it is you did that you think you should be lynched for.”

Steve gives him a weak look. How can Bucky not understand? The brunet seems to recognize Steve’s inner plight and his facial features get gentler. Sighing, he says, “Okay, tell me what actually happened first ‘cause obviously I don’t remember much from it. Last thing I remember before seeing your face was Zola sticking another fuckin’ needle in my arm, so… fill in the gaps for me, and if you’re right and I _should_ be sore with ya, I’ll punch you in the face or somethin’ and then you’ll know.”

“This isn’t a joke, Bucky,” Steve says tiredly.

“Steve, just fucking _tell_ me.”

So he does. The words pain him to say and the memory makes him want to hide his face in shame but he forces himself to at least be angled _towards_ Bucky’s general direction, even if he can’t look him in the eye the whole time. When he’s finished, there’s a small silence and Steve peers up at him guiltily again, waiting for something - _anything_ \- to justify the remorse he’s feeling.

Bucky’s staring at the ground, mulling the words over for a minute or two before looking the blond straight on. “You had no other choice,” he deduces bluntly. “I get why you think I should hold it against you, but it was either that or death. And I dunno if _you’re_ suddenly regretting keepin’ me around, but I’m personally glad I’m still here.”

“How can you even _say_ that?” Steve exclaims. Now he’s scooching around properly so his body is directly parallel to Bucky’s. “Buck, I – I could never even _think_ that about you, _come on…_ D’you know how desperate I’d felt when I thought I’d lost you?”

“Exactly,” Bucky says. “And that’s exactly why I ain’t mad at you, Steve. All I need to do is ask myself what _I_ would’ve done if I’d been in your shoes. I wouldn’t have been able to just let you die, not a chance in Hell. Would _you_ have been upset with _me_?”

Steve thinks about it; knows the answer right away. “No,” he says. He wouldn’t have – simply because he would’ve been with Bucky. Like always, that would’ve been more than enough.

“Well, there you go,” Bucky says, one corner of his mouth giving Steve a tiny, half-smile. Nodding, he adds, “I don’t know what the fuck we’re supposed to do _now_ , but we’ll figure it out together, ‘kay?”

Steve’s still not convinced. It doesn’t feel like it should be this easy. Deep down, a part of him still believes that Bucky just doesn’t fathom yet _how_ big of a deal this is. But then again, Bucky had never been as religious as Steve, either. But he nods regardless – thinks, not for the first time, that even though he doesn’t need sleep anymore, his mind is _exhausted._ Bucky watches his face as the blond looks down at the ground in front of his crossed legs.

“What? There’s somethin’ else, I can tell,” he says slowly.

“What we… _did,_ earlier, I…” Steve shakes his head, trying not to scowl in self-hatred. “I’m sorry for that.”

“You mean when we fucked?” Bucky asks with surprise.

Steve nods stiffly. “I don’t even know what came over me, I just… You were right _there_ , and it felt exactly like when we killed Schmidt and Zola. It was like… like how I feel whenever I can smell human blood, or--” He sighs and rubs his eyes, correcting, “How _we_ feel, sorry. I’ve been used to doing this alone; m’not used to being around someone else who’d understand.”

“I still don’t get why you’re apologizing,” Bucky says. He almost sounds like he’s bordering the line between concerned and defensive. Steve makes a frustrated sound and scrubs his whole face now.

“Because, in the moment, I didn’t even have any regard for whether or not I was hurting you,” he answers angrily. “I – I didn’t… I didn’t even _care_ , Buck. It was like I couldn’t _think_ ; I had no control, and I hate myself for that because I don’t _want_ to hurt you!”

Bucky doesn’t respond at first, so Steve looks up at him. He’s confused by the expression waiting for him. Bucky’s staring off, face just sort of… calm, neutral. But his pupils are just a tiny bit bigger than average, and Steve realizes… Bucky’s turned on again, just at the mere mention of what they’d done. He can _feel_ it, and once more he wonders and doesn’t understand how this is possible – he can actually _feel_ the desire _in_ Bucky, which automatically makes something stir in the pit of his stomach. Disgusted with himself, he fights it.

“You didn’t hurt me,” Bucky says so quietly that Steve doesn’t catch it.

“What?”

Bucky clears his throat and speaks a little louder. “I said, you didn’t hurt me.” Ice blue eyes roam over to his. “You think you were the only one who felt like you were out of control? I couldn’t even see straight – it was stronger than anythin’ I’ve ever felt before, _even_ whatever that was that happened to us around the blood and shit. The entire time it was happening, it felt like it wasn’t enough. But…” He shakes his head slightly, as if struggling to put it into the proper words. “The second you pushed into me, it felt incredible. I don’t remember feeling pain at _all_ , it just felt _good_.”

Steve’s brows furrow as he listens. How could that have _not_ hurt? It’d been a wonder that Bucky hadn’t _bled_ from the lack of preparation. Had they tried that when they were human, Bucky wouldn’t even be able to be sitting on his hide right now without it smarting too much to stand it.

He opens his mouth to argue when Bucky says quickly, “I _know_ what you’re thinking and you’re _wrong._ So just shut up and listen, will ya? You said you thought you hurt me and I’m telling you that you _didn’t_ – m’not even sore or nothing right now. I feel perfectly fine; _better_ than fine, actually.” With a humourless chuckle, he clarifies, “Truth be told, I feel more alive _now_ than I have in months… maybe _ever_. Do you understand?”

He doesn’t, he really doesn’t, but then again, he supposes that it isn’t exactly his right to tell Bucky he’s _wrong_ about how his own body feels. He still doesn’t quite believe it – because he’s placed so much self-blame on his shoulders that at this point, it’s a little impossible to – but trying to dispute it any further will only lead into an argument. So he resigns himself over and gives a half-hearted nod. Bucky’s gaze grows more intent.

“Steve, I _mean_ it, stop,” he says sincerely. But Steve can’t help but hear how the _tone_ has dropped, just a bit. Perhaps he wouldn’t have even picked up on it - _heard it so acutely_ \- before. “Steve? Can you just _look_ at me for a second, please? Just one second, doll; that’s all, I swear. Then you can go back to poutin’ and giving me the silent treatment.”

If Steve could still blush, he’d probably be doing it right now. Bucky _knows_ how he feels about those sorts of little pet names – namely that he hates them about as strongly as he secretly loves them, too. He hasn’t heard Bucky call him anything like that in _months_. He gets a brief flash of their apartment back home; of the life they used to have. It’s gone as quick as it came. It takes him a bit, but eventually he concedes and meets his eyes.

He isn’t prepared for how _blown_ Bucky’s pupils are now. He also doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to how goddamn _perfect_ he looks now, physically speaking. There’s not a single blemish or flaw on him. The only time someone’s supposed to look like this is in a painting… He’s literally turned his best friend into walking artwork. It doesn’t help that, for _whatever_ reason that Bucky’s feeling this way again ( _maybe he just can’t help it; he’s still so young, so new at this, after all… Steve’s months old and he still can hardly control it – feels the exact same things around Bucky_ ), there it goes, resonating in _Steve’s_ body, too. It makes it all the more difficult to ignore, but he keeps trying.

Bucky gets the faintest trace of a smile while his eyes fly around and take in Steve’s face. “ _God_ , you look swell,” he says in awe. “Been so busy, haven’t even had the chance to just have you pipe down so I could take a proper look at ya. _Jesus Christ,_ Steve, this is actually amazing. Do you know how great you look right now?”

Steve doesn’t know how much he likes being stared at this intensely. He’s never been one to enjoy being on display, especially since he wouldn’t exactly have called himself the nicest canvass back then to begin with. And with the way those he’d encountered had regarded him since he’d changed, it hadn’t exactly left him with the best impression. It’d somehow never even occurred to him that there was any chance he could look anything similar to how Bucky now looks. To Steve, the explanation for that was simply because it was _Bucky_ … Everything always seemed incredible about Bucky; only he could be turned into a monster and come out looking so beautiful.

Not knowing what to say to that, and feeling uncomfortable with all the possibilities, he just shakes his head.

Motivated, Bucky leans forward and plants his hands on the snowy ground. “When I first saw you standin’ over me, I thought you were an angel, bless my soul,” he says. Steve flinches at his choice of words but that only seems to fuel Bucky on more. His eyes are locked on Steve now and Steve recognizes that look – it’d been the one he was given before Bucky had started chanting, _‘Fuck me’…_ The same one he’d gotten when he’d been hungry; it’s the face of a hunter. 

Bucky starts _slowly_ crawling towards him; never blinking, staring up at him from under long, dark lashes, lips slightly parted. Steve can see the tips of his canines. The way his joints roll and his body slinks towards him – closing the distance – reminds Steve of a cat.

“Do I look as pretty as you?” Bucky asks lowly, his voice dripping with a renewed lust. Steve finds himself placing his hands down behind his back and slowly inching himself _away_. He can’t let this happen again; he’s still convinced that Bucky had only said what he did before because he’s still not thinking straight. Steve’s still convinced that there’s reason to hate himself for his actions. He can’t take advantage of Bucky – not after everything he’s been through.

“Why’re you movin’ away from me?” Bucky asks with genuine confusion, though his tone is still sultry and his face, unchanging. “Please, just… stop for one second and let me touch you. I just want to touch you - one touch, that’s all. Wanna make sure you’re not just a dream.”

Steve’s back hits a tree and he realizes he has nowhere else to go. He supposes he could just break away to the side and get to his feet; put a real stop to this. But the closer Bucky gets, the harder his body calls out for him; the stronger the pull is, responsible for drawing Bucky in as much as _he’s_ the one being drawn.

It only takes him a second to piece together that the shorter the physical space is between them – the closer Bucky is – the more powerful his connection to him feels. By the time Bucky’s staring at Steve’s mouth and slowly climbing onto his lap, wrapping his legs around Steve’s waist and the small tree trunk behind him, Steve doesn’t _want_ to move just as badly as he knows he _can’t._

Bucky looks all around his face like he can’t take the sight in fast enough. He brings one hand to Steve’s temple and lightly drags his fingers down the outline of his jaw… to his chin… over his lips. “Can someone be _too_ beautiful?” he asks – maybe to himself. “You were always perfect, but _this…_ This is something else.”

“Buck… We…”

“Touch me, Stevie – please?” Bucky asks. He’s so close that Steve keeps thinking Bucky’s going to kiss him, but it doesn’t get that far; not yet, anyways. At first, he tells himself that he _shouldn’t_ touch. If he does, he knows where this will head. But Bucky’s still caressing along the different parts of his face; looking at his hair, roaming the line of his throat, and he says, “I wanna know what I look like. Tell me, please…”

Something inside of Steve clenches – _the ghost of his heart again, most likely._ His eyes are tentative, but he hesitantly brings up his fingers anyways and cups Bucky’s cheek. The brunet’s eyes instantly close and he sighs softly, nuzzling into the palm of his hand. “Steve, talk to me,” he breathes.

Steve swallows hard. “You… I don’t even know how to put it into words,” he admits. He takes in Bucky’s new features and tries his best. “You just look… I mean, you look perfect…”

“What colour are my eyes?” Bucky asks, opening them up and very deliberately burning holes into Steve’s with the amount of naked hunger he holds in them.

“Still blue,” Steve tells him. His mouth is starting to feel dry. “Just… different. They remind me of ice… And they’re ringed with black; thicker than before.”

Bucky gets a small smile at this. “Just like yours, then,” he murmurs, leaning in and tilting his chin up. Steve thinks he’s finally going in for his lips now, but then he realizes that Bucky’s going for his eyes. Closing them at the last second, Bucky kisses over the eyelid before doing the same with the other.

“My eyes are like yours?” Steve asks. It’s pathetic how surprised and _hopeful_ the question sounds.

“Yes. Never thought your eyes could get any bluer. Your lashes are longer now, too – ain’t that a sight…”

Steve feels Bucky’s mouth press to his temple and then start to inch its way downward. “What else?” the brunet whispers in his ear. Steve realizes he’s got his hands holding Bucky’s hips now; doesn’t even remember putting them there.

“Bucky… Wait, I don’t think--”

“Shh…” Bucky kisses along his jaw and then brushes their mouths together. “You didn’t hurt me…” He shuffles his hips back a bit and Steve goes tense when he feels Bucky reach between them and start undoing Steve’s slacks.

“Buck…”

“You didn’t,” Bucky promises. “It’s okay…” His tongue swipes – just the smallest touch – across Steve’s bottom lip. Steve realizes his eyes have fluttered closed; doesn’t even recall when _that_ happened either. “I want it… God, you’re so pretty… How else do I look, huh?”

The blond hears his zipper being pulled down but then Bucky doesn’t try slipping his hand inside; just rubs over the bulge in the front of Steve’s pants and starts stroking him over the fabric. Steve’s breath catches; he tightens his grip, digging his fingertips into Bucky’s waist.

“Unbelievable,” he says breathlessly. “Not even real… Your skin, it’s white… But your lips are… they’re… _Oh…_ R-Red, they’re red…”

“So are yours,” Bucky purrs, teasingly gliding his mouth across Steve’s again. “Fuckin’ _ruby_ red… Plushest little lips I’ve ever seen… Hair as golden as the sun – never thought such a colour existed, the way your hair looks now.”

Steve’s mouth is ajar and he gasps, feeling Bucky rub him harder. Bucky licks his top lip and then growls quietly in his chest, and suddenly he’s kissing back across his jaw and making his way south, down his neck. “Yours is… still brown,” Steve pants. “It’s… Rich, like, ch-chocolate – _oh my God_ …”

He starts trying to roll his hips as much as he can, sitting the way he is, to get more friction against Bucky’s hand. He wraps one arm around Bucky’s back and brings his other up so his fingers can thread into the back of his hair. The sensations are too much; _Bucky’s_ too much. Everything’s starting to spin and… he’s slipping all over again…

“Skin like a China doll, Stevie,” Bucky husks, between sucking over where his pulse point used to be. “You really _are_ mylittle baby doll…” Scrapes the points of his fangs along the skin… Steve chokes on a sound in his throat and stutters against him. Bucky’s eyes are closed and he grins; lips still pressed to Steve’s throat, baring his canines and Steve just wants him to sink them into him - _oh God, what is_ wrong _with him?_

“Bucky… Wait, Buck…”

“Why?”

Bucky just keeps kissing him; continues to get him impossibly harder in his pants. “Because I… I wanna fuck you…” he forces out.

“ _Fuck,_ yes…”

“No, you don’t…” Steve can’t form proper thoughts; his brain’s getting too clouded. “You don’t understand, I… _Auh, Bucky_ , I… I could… I could _hurt_ you…”

Bucky’s undoing his own pants with the other hand. He runs his tongue up to Steve’s ear and then pinches the lobe between his teeth. Hovering his lips over the hollow curve of the shell, he whispers, “ _Please_ hurt me…”

“I can’t,” Steve grits out adamantly.

Bucky pauses momentarily and then nods against the side of Steve’s face. “Steve, I’m still _me_ ,” he tells him. His voice is hypnotic. Had it always been that way? “You’re still _you_. I still trust you… No matter what happens, I’m going to like it, I swear. I’ll tell you if I don’t, and I know you’ll stop. Steve, god damnit, you’re so fucking gorgeous, you’re driving me crazy,” he growls again.

If Steve planned on answering, Bucky doesn’t give him the chance. He crushes their lips together and immediately pushes his tongue against the small part opening Steve’s mouth. Brows creasing, slightly raised in the center, Steve moans helplessly and lets his mouth tip open so Bucky can slide his tongue inside. Bucky groans and removes his hand from Steve’s crotch so he can slide it up Steve’s shirt; feel along his new muscles and his _flawless,_ sculpted build.

“Oh my God,” he exhales between kisses. “Fuck, Steve, _fuck_ …”

 _I want to_ , Steve almost says, but all he does is kiss Bucky back harder. Suddenly they’re moving frantically. Bucky climbs off Steve, and they don’t break the kiss until Bucky’s ripping himself away with heavy pants to hectically strip his clothes off. He removes _everything_ , everything but his dog tags, in the blink of an eye. Steve’s automated response is to want to worry that Bucky will get too cold, until he remembers… And by then, Bucky’s grabbing the waistline of Steve’s own pants and trying to tug them and his underwear down. The blond stares at him, mesmerized, and plants his hands on the ground so he can lift his hips a bit. All Bucky needs is for them to be pulled away enough to free Steve’s cock, and then he’s crawling back on his lap.

They resume kissing. It feels more like a battle – one that neither of them will ever win. It’s aggressive and heated and passionate and _violent_ all rolled into one, and Steve zones out long enough to not even realize that all the animal-like snarls filling the air aren’t just coming from Bucky anymore. They’re softer though, from both of them… at least there’s that. He raises his arms above his head and Bucky slips his shirt off. When he pulls back, his eyes dart all over Steve’s chest and he groans, running his hands along it.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky repeats. It seems to be his favourite word at the moment, because he repeats it another several times before grabbing Steve roughly by the hair and reclaiming his mouth again. Steve breaks through the fog he’s feeling just enough to grow nervous when Bucky turns out of the kiss long enough to lick up his hand and then wrap it around Steve’s cock. Steve can’t even manage the first letter of his lover’s name before a cry spills from his lips. Bucky’s fucking his fist over him quickly, and he hasn’t forgotten _any_ of the things Steve likes.

It isn’t long before Bucky’s pressing his hips in closer and lifting himself onto his knees. Steve can feel him angling his cock, and he starts to panic. “Bucky,” he begins. Bucky shuts him up with a kiss.

“ _Later_ ,” Bucky answers.

“Let me – let me open you up first,” Steve pleads.

Bucky stills and stares into Steve’s eyes. He already looks _wrecked_ – _oh, sweet merciful Lord, he looks so starved_ – but when he speaks, he’s in complete control and he’s nothing but sincere: “Steve… _later._ Just… do you trust me?”

He nods, slowly.

“I love you… ‘kay?” Bucky whispers. “I want this.”

Steve searches him to make sure he’s telling the truth, and doesn’t see a hint of deceit. For the first time, something inside of him feels _relieved_ … redeemed, somehow. Bucky still loves him – he loves him, even after what Steve’s done to him. He wants this, he… he _wants_ this with Steve, and Steve wants him, too, and if this will make Bucky feel good then that’s Steve’s only objective now. Eyebrows still knit, with that little wrinkle between them, he gives another small nod.

Bucky starts to sink down. Whether it’s for Steve’s own sake or his own, he’s careful with his penetration. He _hasn’t_ relaxed his muscles yet, so this _must_ be uncomfortable, but the way Bucky’s mouth falls open… how his head falls back… how _passionately_ he exhales a moan when Steve feels his tip slip up past the tight rim and pop inside… Bucky mustn’t have been lying. It must feel _good…_ This must really be bringing him pleasure somehow.

Steve watches his face anyways, just in case he sees _any_ sign to the contrary. Bucky takes about a five second wait for every inch he lets guide its way into him. Steve’s nose is scrunched up - his mouth hung open - and _fuck_ , Bucky’s dick is so hard between them. _Leaking…_ It’s fucking _dripping_ already, all over Steve’s pale skin.

“ _Hmmm_ …” Bucky whines, high in his throat. The noise drops at the end and plummets into a needy, throaty snarl. He’s talking to himself. “ _Oh God…_ ”

When he arches his back - still impaling himself down, down, _down_ -Steve catches Bucky’s head just as he tosses it back and holds him close. Leaning forward, he’s the one now to bring his tongue to Bucky’s neck and take in the taste of his skin. He keeps his kisses firm but gentle; spurred on by the way Bucky wraps his arms around the back of his neck and exhales another hot moan.

Maybe it’s because Steve’s mouth is latched to his throat, but when Bucky’s fully seated on his cock, he doesn’t start to move – instead, he asks, “When you tasted my blood… how was it?”

Steve remembers right away and whimpers helplessly, sucking on his lover’s neck harder. Bucky sprouts a blissful grin, eyes closing. He clutches onto the back of Steve’s head and starts to roll his hips. Steve inhales sharply through his nose.

“Wish I could’ve tasted yours,” Bucky says in a throaty voice. “ _God_ , you smell so fucking _good_ , Steve… _Jesus Christ_ … And the way you smelled with Schmidt’s blood on you… And there was already some… from… That was… _Oh my God, yes,_ that was mine, wasn’t it?”

Bucky’s grinding against him too perfectly now for Steve to be able to speak – all his mind can repeat is Bucky’s name and a string of expletives that he’d be shouting right now if he could find his voice. He understands why this is addictive; never has Bucky’s body felt like this… his cock’s never been so tightly squeezed, or perfectly nestled inside of him… The pleasure is so intense that it feels like it’s shocking his system. If he was still human, he’d probably have passed out already. Bucky’s cries and ragged gasps remind Steve that it feels just as mind-blowing for him as well, and that’s all he really cares about.

Bucky directs Steve’s face back up so he can press their foreheads together. Anchoring his knees to the ground, he starts to lift his body up and then sink back down around him. Bucky’s eyes are so close, and with his superhuman vision, Steve can see _every tiniest detail_ painted and splashed inside of his irises. Bucky’s his own galaxy, and Steve’s never fucking loved anybody or anything more. He’d almost lost him today but he _didn’t_ … He’s right here, right in Steve’s arms, and for the first time, it dawns on him that he can now have Bucky like this _forever_ , potentially. He’ll never have to worry about losing him again.

“Smelled so sweet…” Bucky continues with bated breath. “Did I taste sweet, Stevie?”

“Yes,” Steve moans.

“ _Steve_ …” Bucky whispers as his eyes squeeze shut and his face pinches in ecstasy. He sits himself down _hard_ and starts circling his hips. Steve’s jaw goes slack and he’s almost startled by the feral noise that gets caught in his throat. Bucky’s eyes snap back open and it’s so fucking _acute_ – the way his pupils seem to shiver before expanding even _bigger_ … Unnaturally bigger, and it’s so fucking sexy. Something in that sound sparks the savage inside of Bucky – his _monster_ – to partially claw its way to the surface. Steve can see it on his face. He doesn’t realize that he looks the same way.

He holds tightly onto his lover and then flips them over, laying Bucky out on his back in the snow. Wherever it touches Steve’s skin, it feels more like a blanket – feels, really, no colder than lukewarm water. It’s strangely comforting. Somehow, Bucky’s even _more_ gorgeous looking up at Steve like this. Steve likes towering over his body… It makes him feel like he’s protecting him; keeping him safe. He’ll keep him safe for the next ten, _hundred_ , _thousand_ years - he’ll make sure Bucky’s happy and loved and cared for _forever_ , if that’s how long they’ll live, and Steve will be grateful for it.

Their bodies are pressed together, trapping Bucky’s cock against their stomachs, and Steve keeps himself up by his forearms on either side of the brunet’s head. Bucky wraps his legs around Steve’s waist as he hooks his arms under Steve’s and clutches onto his shoulders. They look at each other – eyes burning with wildfire but nothing on their faces but a faithful adoration and love – and then Bucky nods.

Steve starts rolling his hips; begins to thrust his dick in and out of him. Bucky’s eyes narrow, scrunching up his nose again. But he never looks away from Steve or stops breathing out the noises of his pleasure. They sound aggressive and tameless, but all Steve hears is music. His own euphoria pulses and rockets throughout his body, unrelenting through every single movement. But it’s _more_ than that, because it isn’t just his pleasure that he’s feeling. It’s like he can feel _Bucky’s,_ too - inside and out. He wonders if Bucky’s experiencing the same thing.

He also wishes he could see the old flush that used to spread across Bucky’s chest when they used to do this. A part of him suddenly misses that. But at the same time, the smoothness of his flesh – how it’s almost as white as the snow they’re surrounded by but not _quite_ that extreme – and the deep crimson shade of his lips in contrast with the colour of his eyes… _Fuck_ , Steve just traded one extreme of perfection for another. He just has a harder time wrapping his mind around this one.

It takes him a while – mostly because all either of them can manage for some time is growling or moaning or some semblance of each other’s names – but the first coherent words Steve can push out are, “I want to eat you out… I want… I want my lips around your cock…”

Bucky’s way of responding is to surge up and slam their mouths together, groaning brokenly, before pulling away and nodding, now trying to push Steve down his body. Steve’s breaths are heavy and quick as he kisses a hasty path down Bucky’s abdomen before _finally_ getting his mouth around the wet head of his best friend’s erection. Bucky grips his hair in both hands and arches his back as Steve sucks him deep into his throat and begins to bob his head up and down. But he never forces Steve a certain way or tries to thrust his hips up. He just lets Steve take him apart this way, because he trusts him to.

Unable to feel satiated no matter _how_ deep he can fit Bucky into his throat, Steve goes from fucking his mouth on him to sucking on his balls and teasing his slightly gaping hole a few minutes later. By the time he’s stroking the brunet’s cock in a steady rhythm while he buries his tongue in Bucky’s ass, Bucky’s starting to fall apart.

“Steve, fuckin’ _stop_ ,” Bucky strains to say. He’s writhing on the ground and releasing those low inhuman sounds from his throat with every few breaths, and honestly, Steve’s surprised he’s even made it this long. If _he_ thinks all of the sensations are too much sometimes, it’s easy to forget that for _Bucky_ , it’s about tenfold worse. Bucky shouts, “STOP!” more aggressively than he means to, and so Steve quickly pulls back.

Bucky pants loudly and shakes his head, looking regretful. “M’sorry,” he says, reaching out for Steve. “M’sorry, m’sorry, I just… M’too close – I wanna come with you inside of me. C’mere, punk, get the fuck down here.”

Steve can’t help the tiny smile that spreads across his face, curling the corners of his mouth up, as he drapes himself back over Bucky and together, they help Steve slide back into him. Within a minute, Steve’s found that perfect, building rhythm that has Bucky’s breaths getting higher in pitch and his loud moans closer together. Whenever Bucky cries out, the blond will fuck all the way into him and then circle his hips, just the way Bucky’s always _loved_ ; rubbing him up against his prostate over and over until Bucky’s shouting so loudly and dragging his nails down Steve’s unblemished back that the skin slices open in their wake and makes him bleed.

The scent hits both of their noses immediately. Steve’s eyes widen and he lets out a startled, impassioned cry. At the same time, the blues of his irises are flooded and washed out by nothing but _red._ He watches Bucky’s eyes do the same, and it smells so fucking _sweet_ and _coppery_ at the same time. He knows that all Bucky wants to do is get his mouth on the scratches and lap it up - and Steve wants it too, because he wants _all of him_ in Bucky’s body right now.

But he also doesn’t want to interrupt the pace he has going. His balls are starting to tighten so he fucks Bucky harder, faster – enough to seriously have injured him before, but _now_ , Bucky tilts his hips up and down and just meets every thrust like it could never be too rough. Steve knows Bucky’s almost over the edge as well; he doesn’t need to hear it when he senses it so keenly. He bites the point of his right canine down into his bottom lip, grunting when the taste of his own blood gets on his tongue. Bucky’s red eyes drop to it. A crazed look takes over his features - _it’s so fucking sexy, he’s so fucking beautiful,_ and once again, all Steve can think is, _he’s mine, he’s mine, he’s MINE._

He kisses him; dancing back and forth between Bucky sucking on his bloody lip and then reveling in the taste together as their tongues fuck into each other’s mouths. Bucky starts whimpering, higher and higher and louder and louder, until he suddenly shoves his forehead back to Steve’s and squeezes his eyes shut tight, breathing out, “M’gonna come, Steve…” Steve nods, keeping his eyes on Bucky’s face. He wants to watch. But then Bucky’s jolting – falling over the ledge and spiralling into ecstasy – and suddenly shouting, “Oh, _fuck!_ M’coming - _bite me, bite me, fuck,_ Steve, _fuck,_ please!”

Steve’s sinking his teeth into Bucky’s neck before he can even finish his plea. Bucky’s eyes bulge from his head, and whatever pleasure Bucky _would’ve_ felt as his orgasm crashed over him is _nothing_ compared to the added sensation of Steve’s canines burrowing into his flesh at the same time that it happens. His cock erupts and starts spurting come everywhere between their bellies, and then Bucky’s smiling… Smiling and closing his eyes with his mouth hanging open and exhaling loud mixtures of moans and fucked-out, breathless chuckles as he’s taken over by a high he’s never known before.

And Steve feels it – every single sliver of it; feels it _in_ Bucky’s body, somehow in his own. And Bucky’s blood is in his mouth, but it’s also _his_ blood – most of what runs through Bucky’s veins now _is his blood_ \- and _that’s_ why _; he gets it now_ …

Bucky’s life source _is_ Steve’s, too. He’s what brought Bucky back to life and what’s _keeping_ him like this. Steve is literally a _part_ of Bucky now – his blood eternally connecting them. Steve will always be able to feel what Bucky’s feeling; sense him, no matter where he is. And when he’s _right here_ like this, Steve will never be able to get enough. This pushes him to his own climax only seconds later, pumping even more of himself into Bucky as he drinks up his and Bucky’s blood.

Bucky whimpers softly as the chaos inside of them gradually begins to drain away and the hue of their eyes returns to normal. Steve feels more and more like himself again and then pulls out of him slowly, Bucky sighing at the loss. He collapses beside him only to feel the brunet gather him up in his arms and pull Steve against him. Cradling Steve’s head on his chest, Bucky pets through his hair and breathes out, “I love you. Thanks.”

“I love you, too. That felt…”

“I know.”

Steve closes his eyes, not even caring that his trousers are still hanging halfway down his thighs, much like Bucky doesn’t seem to give a single damn that he’s still out there in the open, stark naked. Bucky murmurs, “Do you think it’ll always feel like that? So intense?”

“I don’t know,” Steve answers honestly. He can still taste them both on his tongue. The lacerations on his back from Bucky’s nails have already healed themselves, but they can both smell the lingering droplets of blood as they trickle down his skin and stain into the snow. “I hope it does, though.”

Bucky hums. “Me too. Don’t really know how I’m supposed to stop myself from fuckin’ you stupid left, right, and center, though.”

Steve smiles to himself; shivers at the gentle pressure of Bucky’s fingertips massaging his scalp. “You’re goddamn crude,” is all he can think to say.

“I _told_ you, m’still _me_ ,” Bucky replies. Steve can hear the smile in his voice about as easily as he can feel the peaceful calming of his body.

That is, until they hear a twig snap not that far from where they are. Immediately, they’re tensing and snapping up. Bucky growls in its direction and Steve’s poised and ready to attack before he even knows it. But it isn’t a human – just another deer. It looks over to them, equally as startled, and freezes on the spot. Bucky seems to relax a little; mutters something under his breath that Steve doesn’t catch, before turning away and going to pick up his damp clothing to put them back on again.

“M’gonna go clean myself up,” Bucky tells him as he does up his pants.

“Okay,” Steve replies distractedly, still having the staring contest with the deer. It backs away a bit at the sound of Bucky’s footsteps, but it doesn’t run away. The crunching of boots in the snow get quieter the closer Bucky gets to the stream; the further he is from them. Steve’s alone with it now. He doesn’t feel hungry, and he knows if Bucky was, he would’ve pounced on it before the animal had had even the slightest chance to save itself. And yet the _desire_ to take it down and feed from it is still gnawing at the back of Steve’s mind.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to make peace with this part of himself. He doesn’t _need_ to hurt this poor thing, and yet his own animal still wants to. He hopes he’ll never get so lost in it that one day, he no longer knows compassion anymore. Today, though… _today_ , for another day, he still does. So he doesn’t move an inch; just waits it out until the deer seems to relax and then trots off deeper into the woods. Releasing a small sigh, Steve breaks from his tableau and gets himself re-dressed, wondering all the while if hearts can only remain good if they’re still beating.

* * *

After Bucky returns, they go for a walk and come back with Steve carrying a small log over his shoulder. Setting it down near the fire, they use it to lean against so they can be more comfortable. They watch the flames while Bucky cradles Steve against him, just like the way he used to when Steve had been smaller. Steve always found it funny how easily they could switch the dynamic between them; how Steve could go from pounding into Bucky to Bucky wanting nothing more than to feel like the _real_ protector again. 

Bucky muses about the fact that he doesn’t feel a lick of fatigue. Steve thinks that’s a good time to mention that he hasn’t slept a single night since he changed, which of course leads to Bucky wanting to know every detail of what’d happened, since he hadn’t asked before. It’s a conversation Steve’s been trying to put off – namely because Bucky hadn’t even known he’d gotten himself involved in the _army_ to begin with, let alone the program.

But he’s never lied to Bucky before, and he certainly wouldn’t dream of it now. So he tells him everything, beginning as far back as the Stark Expo. Bucky’s unimpressed – this much is crystal clear – and Steve can feel it in the way certain parts of his story make the brunet’s body rigid and his lips seal into a tight line. The only time Bucky interrupts is when Steve mentions the part about the dummy grenade. _Then_ he’s got a mouthful to say and all Steve can do is sit there and take it because _yeah, he knows…_

Eventually, after Bucky’s repeated for about the tenth time, _“Fucking Jesus Christ, Steve, m’gonna punch you in the back of the head, I really will”_ (but never actually does), he settles back down and begrudgingly tugs Steve to him again, huffing, “Okay, go on.”

Steve takes his story as far as to the moment he saw Bucky again, because there’s no point in repeating that part. Then, he doesn’t know what else there is to say, so he leaves it there – _he was never the best storyteller_ – and goes quiet. For a few minutes, they simply take in the flames still licking up and twisting around, and because Steve can’t hear Bucky’s heartbeat, it’s harder to tell just what exactly his best friend is feeling at the moment. But inside, Bucky’s tense as Hell, meaning that Steve can feel it in _his_ body, so he gives Bucky all the time he needs to form his response.

“I wish you would’a just stayed home,” Bucky finally says.

Steve doesn’t know how he feels about that necessarily, but he supposes he can see where Bucky’s coming from. Given everything he’s just told him, it’s not the _worst_ reaction he could’ve gotten. “I know,” he replies quietly, filled with shame.

“But then I probably would’ve died in there,” Bucky points out, “and we wouldn’t have seen each other again.”

That’s too painful a thought to dwell on, or even give serious consideration. Steve hugs him tighter. Bucky tightens his arms around him, chewing on his lip in thought. Eventually, he admits, “M’pissed at how fuckin’ _stupid_ you can be sometimes – seriously, Steve, you got the worst sense of self-preservation I’ve ever fuckin’ seen – but… M’also happy this happened. Is that wrong?”

Is it? On some levels, Steve still thinks so. But not because of anything to do with Bucky – _sort of._ Mostly, anything tied to their situation that feels like it should be judged has to do solely with _his_ actions. But he also can’t deny how selfishly _right_ it feels, knowing that he can have Bucky all to himself now – maybe forever, granted that Bucky doesn’t get sick of him before then.

“At least my ‘self-preservation’ won’t be a problem no more, from the looks of it,” he tries to joke lamely. Tilting his chin up, he looks to Bucky’s face and says, “I don’t think you’re wrong.”

Bucky smirks. He’s always liked to hear that. “Good,” he replies, glancing down and turning that smirk into a soft smile as he meets Steve’s eyes. “God, Steve, you really are beautiful,” he whispers, and his eyes are once again moving all across his face. Shaking his head in wonderment, he looks back to the fire and wraps his other arm around the blond, locking him snugly against him, muttering, “C’mere.”

It’s strange – Steve _can’t_ sleep and yet he feels so peaceful that it starts to feel like that’s exactly what he’s going to do. Really, all that’s happening is that, as the time passes and the hours drain into the next, he’s staring off and letting his mind go blank. They’ve fallen into a comfortable silence, and he isn’t sure what’s going through Bucky’s mind until the older man breaks it sometime later and says, out of nowhere, “I ain’t gonna live off of animals, Steve.”

It’s a simple statement. Steve’s stomach twists anyways. Pulling back, he gives Bucky a confused look; made only more unsettled when he sees the sureness on Bucky’s. The brunet looks to him factually and, _yes_ , he’s already made up his mind. Steve knows there’ll be no talking him out of it. He tries to anyways, of course.

Bucky just shakes his head and says calmly, “Look, m’not saying that I’m gonna go out and slaughter villages or nothin’. M’just saying that I’m not going to spend the rest of my life feeling half-full because of something like morals. Animals in the wild – they don’t get picky about _what_ they eat, they just _eat_. I don’t wanna go killing anyone just as much as you do, but unless you can find me somethin’ that tastes as good as _they_ do, then I’ve made my decision. You don’t have to do it; m’not saying you gotta follow my example or nothin’. You don’t even gotta agree with me. I just felt you needed to know where I stand – m’not living off of animals.”

He speaks gently and slowly, letting his words sink in for Steve. The entire time, he keeps his eyes on the blond’s face, as if trying to gauge how Steve feels about it. Obviously Steve doesn’t feel completely at peace with his admission, but he’s also conflicted about it, too. That familiar sense of self-disgust creeps back in, because he doesn’t _want_ to take a person’s life like that – _Bucky and Schmidt had both been exceptions, and he’d understood the reasoning for Zola as well_ – but he can’t kid himself… If he’s around Bucky all the time (and he knows full well he will be), and he has to watch Bucky feed off of humans – have the scent of his mouth and skin permeating with human blood – Steve knows he’ll go out of his mind. Who knows what he’d do then; who he’d kill when he inevitably lost control.

Sighing, shoulders sagging, he shakes his head and says, “There has to be some sort of middle ground here… A way for us to do that without hurting anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”

His phrasing seems to get the gears turning in Bucky’s head. He adopts that look that he always used to get whenever an idea came to him and then slowly replies, “So, if they were people we felt _deserved_ it… then it’d be okay?”

“I… _guess_ so, yeah. I mean… I just don’t wanna kill no one who’s done nothing wrong. I don’t wanna kill _anyone_ , really, but…” He sighs. “You know what I mean.”

Steve’s staring down at the ground now, but Bucky’s still watching him carefully. That’s when he voices his suggestion: that they only feed off of those who are doing bad things. He compromises (for Steve’s sake) that if he has no other choice – meaning, _if ‘bad’ people aren’t an option at the moment_ – he’ll settle on an animal and he won’t argue Steve on it. But the fact is, they’re in the middle of a war; a war they can no longer really help win because of _what_ they are. They can’t fight alongside the home team, but maybe they can still be of some use to them. There _are_ enemies doing horrific things that they can rid the world of. Bucky presents it as though this is some sort of revelation that’ll result in world peace or the like. Steve isn’t completely sure himself, but he agrees to it nonetheless. It’s the best option they have, if that’s the route they’re going down.

Bucky heaves a tiny, sympathetic sigh and wraps Steve up in his arms again. Steve goes willingly and presses his forehead to Bucky’s neck. The teeth marks over the Sergeant’s pulse point are already long gone.

“We ain’t gonna be doing anything wrong, Stevie,” Bucky soothes protectively, back to stroking golden hair. “This is about survival now. We’ll just be doin’ what it takes to survive and live comfortably.”

Steve hopes that one day, he’ll believe that. For now, he chooses to remain silent and stare back into the fire, listening to the way Bucky keeps repeating under his breath, “M’not gonna let anything bad happen to you…”

* * *

Bucky had been right – over the two years that follow, Steve comes to terms with the fact that survival and practicality sometimes prove themselves more important than always doing the ‘right’ thing. Time will never cease to be a thing that amazes Steve; namely, how it seems to pass for them. It feels as though it’s gone by in the span of a single blink, and yet it’s just as much like an eternity, too. 

Some nights, Steve feels as though he’s going to go crazy, because constantly being awake means he’s never afforded a break from it all. Other times, he’s grateful for the things he gets to experience and live through that he knows others will never get the chance to, and he develops a deep appreciation for the nighttime. The moonlight would’ve made it impossible for him to still sketch before, but with his superhuman vision, it’s never a problem.

Bucky, in general, adapts better than Steve. He seems to encounter far fewer moments of conflicting emotions and seems to always see the positive side of everything that Steve sees as a negative. The lifestyle they turn to is one that Bucky _enjoys_ for a multitude of reasons; namely, because they do in fact come to learn that they’re nighly invincible – and who wouldn’t get sucked into a thing like that? But then there’s also the more sentimental aspects of it: the fact that he never has to worry about Steve getting sick again, the fact that they can go wherever they want to go and do whatever they want to do, and they’ll always have each other’s company.

It only takes a few more months in the beginning for Steve to, for the most part, move out of his ‘newborn’ stage and gain a better handle on his self-restraint. Several months after _that_ and Bucky is right there with him. And though he admittedly has a _few_ slip-ups where his bloodlust unfortunately costs a few too many people their lives in the dead of night, he gets through the tough stages far easier than Steve had worried he would.

The months turn into a year, and then two, and the war continues on around them, no matter where they find themselves. Along the way, they learn through trial and error the ways they are the same and how they differ in terms of how their bodies operate. Though Bucky never once completely opens up about what exactly he’d been put through at Hydra’s hands, Steve does find out that he’d been given several different concoctions; bastardized versions of the serum Steve had been given, in the hopes that they could one day replicate it and build an army of their own. Whatever had been flowing their Bucky’s veins had changed his DNA in similar ways, but not exactly.

Steve’s serum had been, for all intents and purposes, ‘perfect’ – and he learns from watching Bucky that his capability to remain in sunlight without damage _was_ a result of the chemicals and not the curse itself. Bucky, on the other hand, can likewise be out and about during the day. The difference, however, is that after a few hours, his body starts to suffer from it. His skin starts to feel as though it’s burning, and Bucky undoubtedly grows incredibly distressed and pained in the midst of this discovery. Because of their connection, Steve feels it, too. But once he’s removed from that environment and returned to somewhere with shade, it doesn’t taken long for his body to heal itself and get Bucky back to normal.

He can also, for the most part, survive on next to no sleep. But for every week or so that passes, Bucky will have to get shut eye for at least a few hours. Steve never leaves his side when he does; always on guard and keeping an eye out. On the whole, it leaves them with plenty of time at night to do whatever they please. In the beginning, that’d consisted – as Steve had expected – of two things: eating and fucking. They’d both been insatiable (though Bucky even more so than Steve), and it’d always been rough and frantic back then, even if it was no less passionate.

As time passes, though, they grow better at being able to balance out their monsters with the men they’d once been, both in sex and in feasting, to the point where they can at least _feel_ as though they’re making their own decisions; know when to stop if they need to. They become capable of making love again, instead of just fucking barbarically. Bucky relearns how to do nothing but hold Steve to him and moan softly, less animalistically, whenever Steve slowly moves in and out of him. _Steve_ relearns how it feels to have Bucky’s skin gliding against his back whenever their places are switched and it’s _Bucky_ stretching him open; kissing the back of his neck, or whispering things into his ear, or _loving him_ until Steve grows so overstimulated that the corners of his eyes leak through his climaxes.

Whenever they make love, whether Bucky’s on top or on his back, the only thing they’ll always let them lose themselves in is Steve’s blood that connects them. The blond will slice open a small wound right above where his heart used to be – always his symbol that, even if it no longer beats, it’s still Bucky’s to have – and hold Bucky close as the brunet presses his mouth to the leaking cut and suckles on it until it heals, leaving Bucky moaning at the taste and Steve gasping as he writhes.

Steve _also_ learns over time how naturally Bucky had accepted his new role as a natural killer – something that Steve still sometimes struggles with. It’s not that Bucky doesn’t keep his word; they travel the depths of Europe and the Italian Theater, and aside from those few accidents in the beginning, Bucky faithfully never feeds off of anyone he or Steve would constitute as ‘an innocent’.

He’ll just very _enthusiastically_ attack those who _aren’t._

They have their own ways of doing things. At first, it’d been clumsy and messy for the both of them. They’d use their speed to rush their targets away to the nearest secluded place and then bite into them before they could even scream. It always involved a lot of blood spilled and Steve and Bucky losing themselves in their ‘frenzies’. The more control they regain, the cleaner they can make things; the less blood that goes to waste. Steve always makes it quick; had, even back then. Bucky, though… The more they witness, the more they see from the shadows, the bitterer Bucky becomes.

And Steve can’t forget that, for Bucky, there’s still a part of it that’s personal for him, and always will be. Because Bucky _had_ been a part of this war – these men _had_ been his direct enemies once upon a time. Though they don’t wear the exact same faces, they represent every soldier that’d killed one of his friends, or shot at him, or hurt innocent people _in front_ of him. Steve sometimes believes that Bucky sees the face of _Zola_ in every man whose life he takes.

So, Bucky stops making each kill quick and painless. Depending on his mood, sometimes he’ll be gracious to them. But others… Bucky’s senses have always been sharp; even in their old lives, he’d always had a knack for reading someone’s character. Nine times out of ten, his judgement had been bang on. In his _new_ life, with his _new_ senses, he’s even more on point. That means that if his meal for the night is someone he _feels_ is particularly bad, he’s not as nice. He’ll feed off of them _slowly_ … treat them ruthlessly… spit in their face as they beg for mercy and their lives, while Steve sits off in the background and tries to ignore them, while also having _no_ intention of interjecting. Bucky keeps up his end of the bargain, so Steve doesn’t dictate _how_ he does it, even if it’s by a means he wouldn’t personally do himself.

Those times, Bucky always makes sure he leaves a _little_ bit of blood left in them – keeps their hearts beating and their bodies alive – so that it isn’t the feed that kills them, but Bucky’s hands snapping their necks. He always makes sure that they realize that they’re getting _exactly_ what he feels they deserve before they die.

Gradually, Steve comes around to what they do and makes peace with it. It’s easier when he hears more and more of the horrific things being done by these people; _sees_ the horrors they’re inflicting on others. It hardens him, in a way… only gives him _more_ compassion for the innocents and even _less_ for their enemies. The first time they discover a concentration camp, he grows so enraged that his inner monster not only unleashes itself – _it momentarily erases everything about Steve Rogers entirely._

He rips through that place so quickly that Bucky has a hard time keeping up; too stunned to really take part, let alone slate the hunger he’s feeling. By the time the last Nazi drops dead to the ground, Steve stands in the middle of a sea of carnage. He’s panting and has that crazed look in his eye as he snarls with every breath and keeps whipping around, in case there are more he hasn’t spotted. He’s _covered_ from head to toe in blood – it’s even drenching his hair. With the matching red in his eyes and the stained coppery hue on his teeth from those he _had_ fed on (and not just the ones he’d killed by biting out their jugulars in one swift movement), the _only_ part of him that’s not covered are the whites in his eyes.

Bucky’s standing a few feet away in astonishment – in fucking _worship._ He’s so goddamn turned on that he’s physically _shaking,_ but their monsters back down enough to let themselves remember what needs to be done at the moment. Bucky begins running to every nook, every room, every last space where he can find the prisoners and begins to rip open all of the locks. It only takes Steve half a minute for the spinning in his mind to ease enough that he joins his best friend in his task. They don’t let themselves be seen because they know they’d only further frighten the innocents, so they just… initiate their freedom and then disappear, allowing them to take it from there themselves.

The _second_ they’re alone again, Bucky zeroes directly in on Steve again and puts his skills as a predator to good use. He rushes Steve, slamming him up against the side of a building in an abandoned village about thirty miles away, and fucks him right there with all of their clothes still on… Licks as much blood off of Steve’s skin as he can and does nothing more than growl loudly every time his cock plunges into the blond’s ass… Listens to the way Steve shrieks out inhuman sounds and pushes back against him, because he needs it _deeper_ …

When they finish, they pick one of the empty homes at random and indulge in having a proper bed to lie on – talking between themselves and remembering the nights when they used to be able to dream… They _never_ talk about how lonely they get sometimes.

That’s probably the biggest downside to the lives they now lead: always having to remain unseen, generally speaking. They’re too different now; could never look as though they were meant for this world. The only company they surround themselves with are those who get one good look at them before they die. Steve couldn’t ask for a better companion than Bucky, and he knows that Bucky feels the same – it’s just that sometimes, they miss _people_. However, Steve refuses to even entertain the idea that they turn anyone else just to benefit their own selfish desires. He’s had to say no to Bucky more than once when the brunet had tried to offer it as a suggestion. And yeah, Bucky’s always a little disappointed every time his request is denied, but he doesn’t hold a grudge about it; he can understand exactly where Steve’s coming from, and it isn’t as though Bucky wasn’t already used to life just being about him and Steve.

That’s how it’d felt like it’d always been anyways.

The world will never accept them; they’ll always have to participate in it from the sidelines, where no one can see. The further they travel and the more enemies they feed off of, the quicker they realize that they’re _already_ putting themselves in danger. Because it’s during a chilly February night in Warsaw, while they’re on the prowl and stealthily tracking down who will be their newest victims, that they overhear a small handful of men discussing one of the current headlines making the papers. With their backs pressed to an alley wall, Bucky glances around the corner with narrowed eyes and scopes out each and every man – trying to determine whether there’s anyone from the bunch that could be their target – while they listen to them discuss in Polish ‘all of the bodies that people have been finding around Europe… drained of all their blood, with bite marks in all their necks.’

Languages are another thing they’ve discovered that can pick up on and learn quickly now, so they understand every word. Bucky quickly looks to Steve, concern on his face. They continue on and eventually, find two unfortunate soldiers that they quickly take down. Bucky’s too preoccupied for it to be one of those nights where he takes his anger out on his meal, so he makes it just as quick as Steve so they can _now_ focus on finding a newspaper. When they read it, they realize the grave error they’d been making this whole time: not getting rid of the bodies.

“We’re supposed to be nothing more than _nightmares_ , Buck,” Steve says solemnly, shaking his head and never taking his eyes off of the Polish text. “Sooner or later, they’re gonna realize we exist…”

Bucky sets his jaw and crumples up the paper, whipping it away. He knows what that means - what Steve isn’t saying out loud: if they don’t start being careful, it won’t be _each other_ the humans fight… They’ll band together temporarily to track _them_ down and burn them alive. Then they’ll just find another reason to be at war with each other again; maybe not the next day or the day after that, but _eventually_.

Bucky would sooner slaughter every last one of them before he let them do _anything_ to Steve.

So he grabs his best friend’s face in his hands and sternly says, “No, they’re not. Here’s what we’re gonna do, ‘kay? We’re gonna be smarter about things; anyone we feed from, we do away with the body, understand?”

Steve’s frowning, his mouth an uneven line, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Bucky can see real fear in his eyes. Not a fear at the possibility of death – no, as much as it pains Bucky, he suspects that if Steve didn’t have him around, he’d probably welcome that with open arms. It’s the fear at something bad likewise happening to _Bucky_ ; to them being separated again and not being able to live out this eternity together that they’ve planned but never spoken of aloud.

“Steve – _do you understand_?” he presses.

Steve blinks hard and nods. “Yes,” he answers firmly. “We leave no traces.”

Bucky kisses his forehead and wraps him up into a hug that would’ve probably suffocated Steve when he was smaller.

* * *

So they start burning the bodies. If fire isn’t a logical option at the time, they find other means, such as dumping them into the ocean or digging up holes in the earth. They do away with even the possibility of moving by day, and they become even more conscientious about remaining unseen by any living person. There are even times when Bucky plays things _so_ safe that he willingly suggests they go back to feeding off of animals until he believes the heat and speculation has died down. 

Human beings are fickle things. Less than two months later and the papers stop writing about the widespread fear that, only a half dozen weeks before, Steve had been _certain_ was becoming a worldwide epidemic. The last thing they ever hear about it again is when they’re spending the night in an abandoned house in Lyon; Steve, reading the French print out loud while he rests his head on Bucky’s naked torso. They’re apparently relying on new, ‘scientific’ explanations for the state of all of Bucky’s and Steve’s past victims. Bucky knows this is a good thing for them, but he still can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.

Sucking from a cigarette and staring up at the ceiling, he comments on how desperately human beings must find comfort in ignorance. Steve closes the paper and just stares up at the ceiling, too. “I’d want to believe in that if I were in their place,” he admits, reaching his hand back and beckoning with his fingers for Bucky to give him the smoke. He doesn’t partake in the habit as much as Bucky always has, but now that he knows it can’t affect him, from time to time he figures, _why not?_ Inhaling deeply, he blows out the white smoke and then continues, “I wouldn’t want to believe in _us_ either.”

“We’re not the goddamn _bogeyman,_ Steve,” Bucky scoffs, stealing back the cigarette when Steve holds it out to him.

“M’just saying,” Steve responds, gesturing with his hands, “after all the fiction that’s been written, would _you_ want to know that creatures like us existed? We don’t even know if there’re anymore _like_ us in the world – would ya rather they go and assume they have to prepare themselves for some sort of _army_ when there’s just the two of us shmucks walkin’ around?”

Bucky perks. “Do you really think there might be more of us out there?”

Steve sighs, rubbing his eyes and shrugging. “I dunno, Buck. Maybe? It’s hard to say. I guess there’s always the chance.”

Bucky thinks about that as he blows out tiny smoke rings and offers the cigarette back to Steve, who waves it off. “Be cool to meet another one someday,” he thinks aloud. Steve never says anything that might get Bucky’s hopes up – _call Steve forever the pessimist, he doesn’t care, he’ll just retort that there’s a difference between pessimism and realism_ – so he just hums half-heartedly and rolls over so he can put his mouth to better use and have an excuse to stop talking.

Bucky sighs happily, getting a lazy smile when Steve starts kissing along his stomach. But choosing between hungers is a thing they’ve grown capable of doing nowadays, so as much as he loves the idea of going into round – _fuck, what are they up to now tonight?_ – sixteen…? Seventeen? Whatever it is, and no matter how much he’d enjoy it, he’d much rather fill up his belly first.

“Mm-mm,” he eventually says, shaking his head and gently tilting Steve’s face back up when the blond tries to wrap his lips back around Bucky’s dick. Ice blue eyes look up to him in confusion, so Bucky just tugs him up and kisses his lips before murmuring, “Later; promise. I just need to get some food in me first.”

Steve pretends to sigh overdramatically, but he flops over and gives Bucky the freedom to get up anyways. “Fine,” he replies, “but you’d better make it up to me good.”

Bucky hops off the bed and starts tugging on his slacks. Winking at Steve from over his shoulder and giving that toothy trademark grin, he promises, “Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little head, baby doll. I’ll make it good for you.” Steve just smiles, and maybe it’s _because_ Bucky knows his best guy is currently in good spirits that he chooses _then_ to casually throw in, “I guess now that we’re in the clear, we can have a proper meal tonight again, yeah?”

Steve’s smile fades slightly. They’d been making do mostly on animal blood lately, and Steve would be lying if he said that he hadn’t _missed_ the taste of what he knows full well by now to be substantially greater. Human blood was like a delicacy; the most delectable, fulfilling meal they could ever have – _every time_. Whereas animal blood, in comparison, left a bad taste in their mouths and never _completely_ feeling full. But still… Steve had been letting himself believe that they could keep this up, solely because this was one of those times where he was telling himself again that he was becoming a bad man – no matter _how_ they justified their actions.

Bucky picks up on his frown and sits back down on the edge of the bed. Taking hold of the back of Steve’s neck, he pulls the blond forward so their foreheads bump together. Bucky knows how Steve’s mind works well enough now to not have to be told just how guilty he’s feeling inside ( _again_ ). Eventually, as is always the case, Steve will give in and go back to human blood. Not long after that, he’ll get over his guilt again and make peace with it, as he always does.

_But in the meantime…_

Bucky just gives a tiny, understanding nod and says, “I’ll take care of myself tonight, ‘kay? You go do your own thing.”

“You sure you don’t mind?” Steve asks after a moment’s pause. Usually they always hunt together, since they feel it’s a bonding experience; something that never fails to bring them even closer, despite its vulgarity.

Bucky gives him a half-smile before taking Steve’s cheeks in his hands and tilting his head down so he can kiss above his brow. “Positive – I’ll meet you back here in an hour, alright? Then it’s just you n’ me for the rest of the night, and m’gonna kiss every single inch of that body of yours.”

It’s _always_ just them. It’s not like they have the choice for anything different. But this is one of those nights, as they find their own meals and part ways for sixty minutes (and not a second later), where they’re _glad_ of it.

* * *

At the beginning of April in 1945, Bucky and Steve are in Berlin when they discover the location of Adolf Hitler.

Bucky decides that he’s going to kill him. 

At first, Steve protests. Bucky just listens to him with an incredulous look on his face and then nearly shouts back, “Are you fuckin’ _kidding_ me, Steve? For nearly two years – _two years_ – we’ve been taking down the ‘bad guys’, and suddenly we got the chance to take down the worst of them all and _now_ you wanna take the moral high road!?”

The worst part is that Bucky has an irrefutable point. To only add further to that, they’ve been seeing the signs that the war was nearing its final months. Hitler’s regime was beginning to fall, and the Allies were _so_ close… All they needed was a little push. What Bucky was suggesting was that they simply help _give_ it to them. 

So Steve concedes. He points out, however, that Bucky can’t go biting him; can’t kill him that way. Bucky doesn’t understand why at first, until Steve reminds him that Hitler’s a figure too big and powerful to be swept under the rug like everyone else had been.

“They find his body that way and they’ll _never_ stop searching for what did it,” Steve explains. “It’s not just a forgettable kill, Buck – this is shit that’ll get _documented_ , written down in history books. There’ll be concrete evidence that we exist and then we’ll never be able to live another day again without constantly lookin’ over our shoulders.”

“But--” Bucky starts to argue, before promptly closing his mouth and eyes, and letting out an annoyed breath. Calming himself and trying to see Steve’s side, he replies, “ _Okay_ , so then we just do what we did with the others; we burn the body.”

Steve shakes his head, having already thought of that. “Without a body, people could just think he went into hiding. And as long as his followers still believe he’s alive, the Nazi regime will never _truly_ fall – not when they think there’s still hope.”

Bucky looks away as he mulls over Steve’s words. Cursing under his breath, he realizes that the blond is right. “I hate it when you’re right about this shit,” he sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face before pulling out a cigarette. Steve makes a grabby motion with his index finger and thumb, so Bucky tosses another one over to him, along with his pack of matches. After a small silence, Bucky asks, “So what’s the plan then? You have any ideas?”

“Just one,” Steve admits gravely, watching the smoke twirling and rising from the burning cherry. “But I won’t be the one doing it.”

“When was the last time you were?” Bucky points out rhetorically. “You know I got no problem getting my hands dirty – not when it comes to this.”

Steve doesn’t respond right away. Are they really going to do this? _Are they actually going to kill Hitler?_ Then he remembers that very first concentration camp… and yes. They _are_.

“Alright, Sergeant, consider these your orders,” he says, his voice becoming firm.

Bucky perks up at the tone and listens with his eyes glued to Steve’s face as the latter explains his plan. When he finishes, Bucky gives him an impressed little smile. “Huh, not bad, Rogers,” he says. “Anyone ever tell you you’re good at givin’ orders?”

Steve bites his lip; feels that familiar stir in the pit of his stomach… Knows _exactly_ where this is headed. “Someone told me that once,” he answers lowly. “Also told me they _liked_ it when I bossed them around from time to time.”

Bucky stubs out his smoke before plucking out what’s left between Steve’s fingers and doing the same to it. Getting a filthy smirk, he crawls to him and directs Steve onto his back before leaning in close. “Could’a been a Captain or somethin’,” he breathes, already beginning to roll his hips. “Always loved to be the boss.”

“ _Bucky…_ ”

“Boss me around, Captain,” Bucky whispers in his ear, so Steve tightens his grip around his waist and flips them over, and together, they get lost.

* * *

The history books would one day go on to say the following: 

That on the twenty-second of April, during a conference meeting, Adolf Hitler is told that the Soviets have entered Berlin. By the end of the meeting, the Führer announces to his men – Wilhelm Keitel, Alfred Jodl, Hans Krebs, and Wilhelm Burgdorf – that ‘everything is lost’, and announces his plan to remain in Berlin until ‘the end’ and then commit suicide by shooting himself.

Not even a day later and the Red Army completely surrounds Berlin. During this time, Hitler remains isolated while Joseph Goebbels urges the city’s citizens to come to the city’s defense. On the twenty-eighth, Hitler discovers that Himmler was trying to discuss surrender terms with the Western Allies, to which he orders for Himmler’s arrest while having the man’s SS representative shot and killed.

Hitler has his last will and testament written up six days later, on April twenty-ninth. After midnight on that same day, he and Eva Braun get married in a small civil ceremony located in the Führerbunker, before dictating his will later in the morning. News of Benito Mussolini reaches Hitler that afternoon, seeming to spur on his desire not to be captured by his enemies.

On the thirtieth of April, Soviet troops flood deeper into Berlin, where they engage in an intense street-to-street combat, leaving them within only a block or two from the Reich Chancellery, where Hitler and Eva Braun are in hiding. Together, they commit suicide – Braun, by biting into a cyanide capsule; Hitler, by likewise ingesting a cyanide pill before being shot in the head.

Whether Hitler himself pulls the trigger or he is shot by his wife before she takes her own life is a debate that would find itself _still_ being discussed for decades to come.

* * *

It’s a secret kept between but only _four_ people, and half of that number could’ve ever risked saying anything. Luckily for Steve and Bucky, those two people cannot tell the truth now that they’re dead… So the history books do _not_ say the following: 

On the twenty- _first_ of April, Hitler awakens to find Bucky standing next to the bed. Before he can shout, Bucky’s hand is over his mouth. Steve’s standing guard on Eva’s side, lest she wake up and try to scream. Bucky hisses in perfect German, just loud enough for the Führer to hear, “ _Let’s go someplace where we can talk._ ” With Hitler ordering his men away, they take him downstairs, where Steve makes sure he stays sitting; his hands firmly pressing down on the Nazi’s shoulders. Bucky talks. Hitler listens. Bucky doesn’t give him room to argue.

It isn’t difficult for Steve and Bucky to find the pills. In the middle of the night on the twenty-ninth, they return undetected, and Bucky places ten pills on the table for Hitler to take. With a shaking hand, the German asks why he’s being given so many. “ _To test them out; you’re going to make sure they work,_ ” Bucky answers. Hitler asks how he’s supposed to do that – Bucky tells him to figure it out.

Later that day, Hitler’s dog, Blondi, dies from cyanide poisoning. (Steve has to fight the urge to backhand the man the next time he sees him after finding out, and even Bucky snarls that the bastard is the ‘real monster’ before spitting on him with disgust.) They also hear that he’d given some of the pills to his female secretaries as parting gifts, lest they be captured by the Soviets.

They remain in his room for most of the night. Eva Braun is well aware of who they are by now, though she does little more than cower against the corner of the wall and quietly beg them to spare their lives. Bucky doesn’t give a fuck about her; thinks of her as just as disgusting as Hitler. Steve has a bit more sympathy and once – _just once_ – apologizes. In English. Bucky and Steve expertly remain quiet with every word, every movement, so Hitler’s men just on the other side of his door never even suspect their presence. To be safe, they send the leader out around two-thirty in the morning to say his final farewell to his staff members. He tries one more time to appeal to Steve and Bucky before Bucky reminds him of his alternative – and then the man reluctantly leaves the room.

Some historical accounts of this moment would _also_ claim that Hitler looked glazed, somber, as he shook everyone’s hands in silence before immediately returning to his room. Bucky watches Hitler and his new wife in silence for three more hours before congratulating them on their brand new marriage, in his perfect German. Around six a.m., he and Steve leave with the promise of their return at the spoken time and place.

At noon that day, Hitler attends his last military conference, where he learns how close the Soviets now are to his location. Two hours later, he has his last meal. Directly following this, he orders his chauffeur to deliver two-hundred liters of gasoline to the Chancellery gardens. He and Eva Braun bid farewell to Hitler’s staff and retreat to their private quarters, where – unbeknownst to everyone else – Bucky and Steve are already waiting. Steve is only there to make sure nothing bad happens to Bucky.

The door closes, and the four of them are alone. Despite the impending attack from the Soviets – which _is_ , no doubt by now, very _much_ impending – Hitler tries one last time to beg the men to show them mercy. They plead from every angle they know how; Bucky grabs Hitler’s face, brings his own close, and snarls in a low voice to keep his volume _down_. He promises that if _anyone_ so much as _opens_ that door to come check on them, Bucky will make sure it’s the last thing the German regrets. Eva, on the other hand, cries quietly and asks Steve if he’s a religious man.

“Don’t answer that, Steve,” Bucky mutters quickly in English.

Steve hesitates and then replies in German, _“Yes, ma’am, I am.”_

Bucky grits his teeth as the woman uses that to try and reason with Steve – insisting that a man of God would not be doing such a thing. For the first time, Bucky sees doubt and guilt flicker across Steve’s face, and Bucky would never attack a woman, would never _bite_ into one like that, but _fuck her, how_ dare _she try and manipulate Steve like that, how dare she_ – and then Hitler’s opening his mouth and trying to appeal to the blond as well, but _him_ , Bucky doesn’t hesitate with… He grabs him by the throat, baring his teeth and his eyes ferocious.

 _“You don’t get to speak to him!”_ he hisses in a dangerously low tone; only controlled and quiet so those outside won’t hear. He directs his words to the both of them. _“You don’t get to condemn him – judge him as being anything less than a ‘man of God’; not after everything you two have done!”_

 _“I can pray for you,”_ Steve mutters softly from the other side of the room. His head is down and he’s staring at the floor. He takes a breath and then finishes, _“But that is all I will do for you.”_

At three-twenty seven p.m., with the Führer and his new bride sitting – _trembling_ – on the couch, Bucky slips on a pair of gloves and then picks up Hitler’s Walther PPK 7.65” pistol with his right hand, and the last two remaining cyanide pills with his left. Walking over to them, he makes them take one pill each into the palms of their hands.

“Bucky,” Steve calls over quietly in English. “It’s three twenty-nine p.m.”

Bucky nods, eyes still on the Germans, and then takes a few steps back. Bucky tells them to do it. With violently shaking hands, they have several attempts where they raise the pills to their lips but then can’t actually go through with it. By the fourth time, when Hitler looks to Bucky desperately, Bucky just keeps his stare cold and unforgiving and says:

 _“It’s either that, or me. I’m starting to not care which one you go with – but I can promise you, you won’t like what I’ll do to you… You don’t have to worry about my soul; I know where it’s destined for. Let’s not kid ourselves… My friend here is the only one in the room still worthy of God’s love. But me? I’m going in the exact same direction as you. This is for every single person you’ve ever hurt; every single person you ever had killed – every child you stole from their parents, every_ parent _you forced to watch their son or daughter suffer. I look forward to seeing you in Hell, you sick son of a bitch. Take… the poison.”_

Within the minute, they finally do. Bucky watches without blinking; hears Steve start whispering a prayer under his breath. Just before Hitler dies, Bucky holds up the gun at _just_ the right angle and shoots him in the side of the head. Just as Eva Braun dies from the poison, too, Bucky ditches the gun between the two bodies. They use their speed to escape when the door finally opens and Hitler’s men are about to come into the room. They’re so fast that they aren’t even noticed.

They’re past the Soviets, out of the city, within minutes. They don’t stop until they find the nearest abandoned town. It’s still daylight out so they need to get indoors where it’s safe and they can wait it out until dusk. Then they’ll go hunting, and Steve will try and pretend that Bucky had been telling the truth… that Steve could still somehow be worth saving… That Bucky had been lying… about the fact that he _couldn’t_ be…

They’re silent as they find themselves another empty home and go inside. It must’ve been evacuated only recently; the smell of its old inhabitants still lingers. They head to the nearest bedroom without saying anything. When they get inside, Bucky closes the door and then turns and looks at Steve sadly. If Steve still had a heart, it would be broken… it’d make more sense why that’s the only way to describe how his eyes look right now. He looks up at Bucky as the brunet goes over to him and takes hold of his face. There are tears in Steve’s eyes.

Bucky leans in and kisses him, firm but gentle. Steve kisses back, holding onto Bucky’s wrists, and everything about it is desperate and pained. Bucky walks him back until Steve meets the wall. He starts to cry; Bucky just kisses him harder.

“You’re not a monster,” Bucky whispers, tilting his face to the other side and pressing his mouth to his again. “You’re a good man…”

Steve whimpers, low and shaky and disbelieving. So Bucky tells him again; tells him over and over how _good_ Steve is, how God still loves him, _it’s okay, it’s okay_ … He keeps telling him as Steve clings to him tighter and the tears stream heavier and he’s hurting so much inside and he just wants forgiveness and redemption and _it isn’t_ what _they did that he feels regret for, and maybe that makes it worse… He just can’t stop hearing what she’d said, over and over… What Bucky had said, over and over and over and over--_

Bucky just keeps telling him; doesn’t stop kissing him and gets Steve’s pants down and Steve kicks out of them and _God still loves you, Steve_ and _you’re a good man_ and he’s undoing his own pants now and he grabs Steve’s upper thighs and lifts him up the wall and he never stops kissing him and Steve wraps his legs around his waist and _God still loves you, you’re not a monster, God loves you and I love you too, Stevie…_

He never stops telling him, not for a single second as he slides in and out of Steve so long and so deep that by the time he’s about to come, the blond is quivering and can only manage the shakiest, hottest of broken moans; completely incapable of even saying Bucky’s name. Bucky just wants Steve to see it, to believe him, he _is_ good and he should _feel_ good, always, so when Steve starts to come, Bucky bites him; sinks his teeth deep into Steve’s neck, and it’s the first time he’s ever tried that and it earns him the sweetest, softest, most vulnerable sound from Steve’s throat...

Bucky comes, too. He lowers himself to the floor with Steve’s legs still around him and Steve’s blood still on his tongue and Steve’s scent still wrapping up around him like a blanket and Steve’s body still wrapped around his cock. He lies down, and Steve goes willingly, like he’s always done with Bucky. Then Bucky just holds him – because he likes to be Steve’s protector, and some things never change. Tonight, they’ll be happy to be spending it alone.

And Bucky will make sure that Steve never has to suffer for Bucky’s sins; he’ll take the brunt of them, he’ll take them all gladly, _willingly_ , because Bucky’s never once claimed to be any kind of angel – not when Steve’s always been the one with the wings. _You’re a good man, you’re not a monster, God still loves you, and I love you too, Stevie._

And if nothing else is true, the only thing Steve knows he can trust is that very last promise. He’d never doubt that.

* * *

 …

* * *

Germany signs the surrender terms less than a month later, on May seventh. The very next day, it’s official: the surrender takes effect and the war is considered over. Steve and Bucky are in Birmingham when they hear the news; which, as is always the case by now, is from a distance, where they hide and watch the world around them go on living. They exchange a small smile; Steve’s grows when Bucky gives him a small kiss and suggests they stick to animals that night. 

Europe is in a state of celebration. Later, when the sun is down, Steve and Bucky are perched on the roof of a building tall enough to overlook a nice portion of the city. They still hear the sounds of the people below, but it doesn’t stir anything within them tonight. They just take in the sights, the lights, and the sounds, as they pass one of Bucky’s Lucky Strikes back and forth between them. Steve can't help but think back to the day they'd first heard about the war back home... The night before Bucky had shipped out... How much everything's changed since then.

“Where do we go now?” Bucky asks into the open air, interrupting Steve's thoughts before glancing over to him. “Back home?”

Steve gives a tiny hum and thinks about it. Can they simply go back to Brooklyn and try and resume their life together? He supposes that’s always a possibility.

“I don’t know,” he answers, meeting ice blue eyes again. “I suppose we can if we want to.”

“What do _you_ want to do?” Bucky asks with a warm smile.

Steve returns it before letting his eyes roam back out over the endless view of the city. What _does_ he want to do? They can do _anything_ , really; go anywhere, be anything, for as long as they want. For now, he doesn’t know the answer to that question yet – but he knows they’ll figure it out.

They have the rest of their lives, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Edits I'd randomly done and thrown together for how I imagine the boys would look in the present day
> 
> Obviously, I don't really have any Stucky-inspired porn gifs of VAMPIRES ( _damn_ ), and I couldn't even find any real vampire edits of Chris/Steve or Seb/Bucky, so if anyone who's awesome at photoshop ever wants to edit some pics of them based off the physical descriptions I've provided in this story, I'd love you forever and you'd be my favourite person in the entire goddamn world. I'm just saying.
> 
> Anyways, here are porn gifs regardless!
> 
> 1\. K not only does this dude have a delicious-looking torso, but he looks like he's giving it hard and I'm so on board
> 
> 2\. I can totally be this flexible. I just usually can't move for, like, twelve days afterwards is all.
> 
> 3\. So simple and yet erotic
> 
> 4\. Hot and frantic riding
> 
> 5\. Fuuuuuuuuuuccccckkkkk
> 
> 6\. MONSTER DICK IS ONE OF MY FAVOURITE GIFS EVER CAUSE POST-SERUM STEVE ALWAYS HAS ONE IN MY HEADCANON
> 
> As always, these come from the amazing [stevebuckypornlookalikes.tumblr](http://stevebuckypornlookalikes.tumblr.com/)


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